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UNIVERSITY  OF 

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This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 

DLEE                    RET 

DATE 
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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/battlegroundOOglas 


American    Classical    Romances 


"To  Have  and  to   Hold."      By  Mary  Johnston 

"  Standish   of  Standish."      By  Jane   G.    Austin 

"The   Heart's    Highway."      By  Mary   E.    Wilkins 

"The  Road  to   Frontenac."      By   Samuel  Merwin 

"The  Bow  of   Orange  Ribbon."      By   Amelia  E.    Barr 

"Janice  Meredith."      By   Paul  Leicester   Ford 

"  None   but  the   Brave."      By  Hamblen    Sears 

"The  Reckoning."      By  Robert  W.    Chambers 

"Lords  of  the  North."      By  Agnes   C.   Laut 

"For  the   Freedom   of  the  Sea."       By  Cyrus  Townsend   Brady 

"Old   Creole   Days."      By   George  W.    Cable 

"The  Hoos-ier   School-Master."      By   Edward   Eggleston 

"The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp."      By   Bret   Harte 

"The  Battle-Ground."      By   Ellen   Glasgow 

"Gordon   Keith."      By  Thomas  Nelson   Page 

"The  Leopard's  Spots."      By  Thomas   Dixon,  Jr. 

"Colonel   Carter  of  Cartersville."      By   F.    Hopkinson  Smith 

"  Golden   Fleece."      By   David   Graham   Phillips 

"The  Daughter  of  a  Magnate."      By  F,   H.    Spearman 

"The  Coast  of  Freedom."     By  Adele  Marie  Shaw  and  Albert  Shaw 


VIRGINIA 


ELLEN    GLASGOW 


The 
Battle-Ground 


A    ROMANCE    OF    THE    WAR 
OF    THE    REBELLION 


$ 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
W.     J.     BAER 


P.  F.  COLLIER  &  SON 
NEW    YORK 


This  edition  of  the   "  Battle-Ground**   is  published  under 
special  arrangement  ivith  Messrs.  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 


COPYRIGHT  I9O2 
BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  *  CO. 


—  Tht    Battle-Ground 


*  VNIIOHTO  FTIHO? 
iO    'AIM   AHVH9I1 


(Bo 


1      ri 


Fiction,  Vol.  is — I 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  FIRST 
GOLDEN  YEARS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 
VI. 


"  De  Hine  Foot  er  a  He  Frawg  " 

PAGB 

i 

At  the  Full  of  the  Moon    . 

.       14 

The  Coming  of  the  Boy 

.       29 

A  House  with  an  Open  Door     .        . 

•      45 

The  School  for  Gentlemen 

.        .      56 

College  Days 

.      72 

BOOK   SECOND 


YOUNG   BLOOD 


I. 

The  Major's  Christmas 

93 

II. 

Betty  dreams  by  the  Fire  . 

114 

III. 

Dan  and  Betty  .... 

122 

IV. 

Love  in  a  Maze 

135 

V. 

The  Major  loses  his  Temper 

150 

VI. 

The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike 

162 

VII. 
VIII. 

If  this  be  Love  . 
Betty's  Unbelief 

174 
190 

IX. 

The  Montjoy  Blood  . 

203 

X. 

The  Road  at  Midnight 

219 

XI. 

At  Merry  Oaks  Tavern 

.     229 

XII. 

The  Night  of  Fear     . 

243 

XIII. 

Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth 

253 

XIV. 

The  Hush  before  the  Storm 

.     269 

vm 


Contents 


BOOK  THIRD 


THE   SCHOOL  OF 

WAR 

CHAPTER                                                                                                                                               FA6B 

I.     How  Merry  Gentlemen  went  to  War         .        .    283 

II.    The  Day's  March      .... 

•    294 

III.     The  Reign  of  the  Brate     . 

•    305 

IV.    After  the  Battle 

.        .    316 

V.     The  Woman's  Pa?*    . 

•    327 

VI.     On  the  Road  to  Romney   . 

-        •    338 

VII.     "I  wait  my  Time*    . 

•    349 

VIII.    The  Altar  of  the  War  God 

.    357 

IX.    The  Montjoy  Blood  again 

.  m 

BOOK   FOURTH 


THE   RETURN   OF   THE   VANQUISHED 

I. 

The  Ragged  Army 381 

II. 

A  Straggler  from  the  Ranks 

•    392 

III. 

The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  . 

•    405 

IV. 

In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns         « 

.    418 

V. 

"The  Place  Thereof" 

.    429 

VI. 

The  Peaceful  Side  of  War 

•    437 

VII. 

The  Silent  Battle 

.    450 

VIII. 

The  Last  Stand 

.        .    462 

IX. 

In  the  Hour  of  Defeat 

•    474 

X. 

On  the  March  again  .        .        . 

.    488 

XI. 

The  Retura       .... 

•    499 

THE    BATTLE-GROUND 

BOOK  FIRST 

GOLDEN    YEARS 

I 

"de  hine  foot  er  a  he  frawg" 

Toward  the  close  of  an  early  summer  afternoon,  a 
little  girl  came  running  along  the  turnpike  to  where 
a  boy  stood  wriggling  his  feet  in  the  dust. 

"  Old  Aunt  Ailsey's  done  come  back,"  she  panted, 
"  an'  she's  conjured  the  tails  off  Sambo's  sheep.  I 
saw  'em  hanging  on  her  door !  " 

The  boy  received  the  news  witH  an  indifference 
from  which  it  blankly  rebounded.  He  buried  one 
bare  foot  in  the  soft  white  sand  and  withdrew  it 
with  a  jerk  that  powdered  the  blackberry  vines 
beside  the  way. 

"  Where's  Virginia  ?  "  He  asked  shortly. 

The  little  girl  sat  down  in  the  tall  grass  by  the 
roadside  and  shook  her  red  curls  from  her  eyes. 
She  gave  a  breathless  gasp  and  began  fanning  her- 
self with  the  flap  of  her  white  sunbonnet.  A  fine 
moisture  shone  on  her  bare  neck  and  arms  above 
her  frock  of  sprigged  chintz  calico. 

i 


t  The  Battle-Ground 

"  She  can't  run  a  bit,"  she  declared  warmly,  peer- 
ing into  the  distance  of  the  long  white  turnpike. 
"I'm  a  long  ways  ahead  of  her,  and  I  gave  her  the 
start.    Zeke's  with  her." 

With  a  grunt  the  boy  promptly  descended  from 
His  heavy  dignity. 

"  You  can't  run,"  he  retorted.  "  I'd  like  to  see  a 
girl  run,  anyway."  He  straightened  his  legs  and 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  breeches  pockets.  "  You 
can't  run,"  he  repeated. 

The  little  girl  flashed  a  clear  defiance;  from  a 
pair  of  beaming  hazel  eyes  she  threw  him  a  scornful 
challenge.  "  I  bet  I  can  beat  you,"  she  stoutly  re- 
joined. Then  as  the  boy's  glance  fell  upon  her  hair, 
her  defiance  waned.  She  put  on  her  sunbonnet  and 
drew  it  down  over  her  brow.  "  I  reckon  I  can  run 
some,"  she  finished  uneasily. 

The  boy  followed  her  movements  with  a  candid 
stare.  "  You  can't  hide  it,"  he  taunted ;  "  it  shines 
right  through  everything.  O  Lord,  ain't  I  glad  my 
head's  not  red !  " 

At  this  pharisaical  thanksgiving  the  little  girl 
flushed  to  the  ruffled  brim  of  her  bonnet.  Her  ser*- 
sitive  lips  twitched,  and  she  sat  meekly  gazing  past 
the  boy  at  the  wall  of  rough  gray  stones  which 
skirted  a  field  of  ripening  wheat.  Over  the  wheat  a 
light  wind  blew,  fanning  the  even  heads  of  the 
bearded  grain  and  dropping  suddenly  against  the 
sunny  mountains  in  the  distance.  In  the  nearer 
pasture,  where  the  long  grass  was  strewn  with  wild 
flowers,  red  and  white  cattle  were  grazing  beside  a 
little  stream,  and  the  tinkle  of  the  cow  bells  drifted 
faintly  across  the  slanting  sunrays.     It  was  open 


"De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg"        3 

country,  with  a  peculiar  quiet  cleanliness  about  its 
long  white  roads  and  the  genial  blues  and  greens 
of  its  meadows. 

"  Ain't  I  glad,  O  Lord !  "  chanted  the  boy  again. 

The  little  girl  stirred  impatiently,  her  gaze  flut- 
tering from  the  landscape. 

"  Old  Aunt  Ailsey's  conjured  all  the  tails  off 
Sambo's  sheep,"  she  remarked,  with  feminine  wile. 
"  I  saw  'em  hanging  on  her  door." 

"Oh,  shucks!  she  can't  conjure!"  scoffed  the 
boy.  "  She's  nothing  but  a  free  nigger,  anyway  — 
and  besides,  she's  plum  crazy  —  " 

"  I  saw  'em  hanging  on  her  door,"  steadfastly  re- 
peated the  little  girl.  "  The  wind  blew  'em  right 
out,  an'  there  they  were." 

"  Well,  they  wan't  Sambo's  sheep  tails,"  retorted 
the  boy,  conclusively,  "  'cause  Sambo's  sheep  ain't 
got  any  tails." 

Brought  to  bay,  the  little  girl  looked  doubtfully  up 
and  down  the  turnpike.  "  Maybe  she  conjured  'em 
on  first,"  she  suggested  at  last. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  regular  baby,  Betty,"  exclaimed 
the  boy,  in  disgust.  "  You'll  be  saying  next  that  she 
can  make  rattlesnake's  teeth  sprout  out  of  the 
ground." 

"  She's  got  a  mighty  funny  garden  patch,"  ad- 
mitted Betty,  still  credulous.  Then  she  jumped  up 
and  ran  along  the  road.  "  Here's  Virginia ! "  she 
called  sharply,  "  an'  I  beat  her !    I  beat  her  fair !  " 

A  second  little  girl  came  panting  through  the  dust, 
followed  by  a  small  negro  boy  with  a  shining  black 
face.  "  There's  a  wagon  comin'  roun'  the  curve," 
she  cried  excitedly,  "  an'  it's  filled  with  old  Mr. 


4  The  Battle-Ground 

Willis's  servants.  He's  dead,  and  they're  sold  — 
Dolly's  sold,  too." 

She  was  a  fragile  little  creature,  coloured  like  a 
flower,  and  her  smooth  brown  hair  hung  in  silken 
braids  to  her  sash.  The  strings  of  her  white  pique 
bonnet  lined  with  pink  were  daintily  tied  under  her 
oval  chin ;  there  was  no  dust  on  her  bare  legs  or 
short  white  socks. 

As  she  spoke  there  came  the  sound  of  voices 
singing,  and  a  moment  later  the  wagon  jogged 
heavily  round  a  tuft  of  stunted  cedars  which  jutted 
into  the  long  curve  of  the  highway.  The  wheels 
crunched  a  loose  stone  in  the  road,  and  the  driver 
drawled  a  patient  "  gee-up "  to  the  horses,  as  he 
flicked  at  a  horse-fly  with  the  end  of  his  long  raw- 
hide whip.  There  was  about  him  an  almost  cosmic 
good  nature ;  he  regarded  the  landscape,  the  horses 
and  the  rocks  in  the  road  with  imperturbable  ease. 

Behind  him,  in  the  body  of  the  wagon,  the  negro 
women  stood  chanting  the  slave's  farewell;  and  as 
they  neared  the  children,  he  looked  back  and  spoke 
persuasively.  "  I'd  set  down  if  I  was  you  all,"  he 
said.  "  You'd  feel  better,  Thar,  now,  set  down  and 
jolt  softly." 

But  without  turning  the  women  kept  up  their 
tremulous  chant,  bending  their  turbaned  heads  to 
the  imaginary  faces  upon  the  roadside.  They  had 
left  their  audience  behind  them  on  the  great  planta- 
tion, but  they  still  sang  to  the  empty  road  and  cour- 
tesied  to  the  cedars  upon  the  way.  Excitement 
gripped  them  like  a  frenzy  —  and  a  childish  joy  in 
a  coming  change  blended  with  a  mother's  yearning 
over  broken  ties, 


"  De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg "        5 

A  bright  mulatto  led,  standing  at  full  height,  and 
her  rich  notes  rolled  like  an  organ  beneath  the  shrill 
plaint  of  her  companions.  She  was  large,  deep- 
bosomed,  and  comely  after  her  kind,  and  in  her 
careless  gestures  there  was  something  of  the  fine 
fervour  of  the  artist.  She  sang  boldly,  her  full 
body  rocking  from  side  to  side,  her  bared  arms 
outstretched,  her  long  throat  swelling  like  a 
bird's  above  the  gaudy  handkerchief  upon  her 
breast. 

The  others  followed  her,  half  artlessly,  half  in 
imitation,  mingling  with  their  words  grunts  of  self- 
approval.  A  grin  ran  from  face  to  face  as  if  thrown 
by  the  grotesque  flash  of  a  lantern.  Only  a  little 
black  woman  crouching  in  one  corner  bowed  her- 
self and  wept. 

The  children  had  fallen  back  against  the  stone 
wall,  where  they  hung  staring. 

"  Good-by,  Dolly !  "  they  called  cheerfully,  and 
the  woman  answered  with  a  long-drawn,  hopeless 
whine :  — 

"  Gawd  A'moughty  bless  you  twel  we 
Meet  agin." 

Zeke  broke  from  the  group  and  ran  a  few  steps 
beside  the  wagon,  shaking  the  outstretched  hands. 

The  driver  nodded  peaceably  to  him,  and  cut 
with  a  single  stroke  of  his  whip  an  intricate  figure 
in  the  sand  of  the  road.  "  Git  up  an'  come  along 
with  us,  sonny,"  he  said  cordially;  but  Zeke  only 
grinned  in  reply,  and  the  children  laughed  and 
waved  their  handkerchiefs  from  the  wall.  "  Good- 
by,  Dolly,  and  Mirandy,  and  Sukey  Sue ! "  they 


6  The  Battle-Ground 

shouted,  while  the  women,  bowing  over  the  rolling 
wheels,  tossed  back  a  fragment  of  the  song :  — 

"  We  hope  ter  meet  you  in  heaven,  whar  we'll 
Part  no  mo', 
Whar  we'll  part  no  mo'; 
Gawd  A'moughty  bless  you  twel  we 
Me — et  a — gin." 

"  Twel  we  meet  agin,"  chirped  the  little  girls, 
tripping  into  the  chorus. 

Then,  with  a  last  rumble,  the  wagon  went  by,  and 
Zeke  came  trotting  back  and  straddled  the  stone 
wall,  where  he  sat  looking  down  upon  the  loose  pop- 
pies that  fringed  the  yellowed  edge  of  the  wheat. 

"  Dey's  gwine  way-way  f 'om  hyer,  Marse 
Champe,"  he  said  dreamily.  "  Dey's  gwine  right 
spang  over  dar  whar  de  sun  done  come  f'om." 

"  Colonel  Minor  bought  'em,"  Champe  ex- 
plained, sliding  from  the  wall,  "  and  he  bought 
Dolly  dirt  cheap  —  I  heard  Uncle  say  so  —  "  With 
a  grin  he  looked  up  at  the  small  black  figure  perched 
upon  the  crumbling  stones.  "  You'd  better  look 
out  how  you  steal  any  more  of  my  fishing  lines,  or 
I'll  sell  you,"  he  threatened. 

"  Gawd  er  live !  I  ain'  stole  one  on  'em  sence 
las'  mont',"  protested  Zeke,  as  he  turned  a  somer- 
sault into  the  road,  "  en  dat  warn'  stealin'  'case 
hit  warn'  wu'th  it,"  he  added,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
staring  wistfully  after  the  wagon  as  it  vanished  in 
a  sunny  cloud  of  dust. 

Over  the  broad  meadows,  filled  with  scattered 
wild  flowers,  the  sound  of  the  chant  still  floated, 
with  a  shrill  and  troubled  sweetness,  upon  the  wind. 


"  De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg "        7 

As  he  listened  the  little  negro  broke  into  a  jubilant 
refrain,  beating  his  naked  feet  in  the  dust :  — 

"  Gawd  A'moughty  bless  you  twel  we 
Me — et  a — gin." 

Then  he  looked  slyly  up  at  his  young  master. 

"  I  'low  dar's  one  thing  you  cyarn  do,  Marse 
Champe." 

"  I  bet  there  isn't,"  retorted  Champe. 

"  You  kin  sell  me  ter  Marse  Minor  —  but  Lawd, 
Lawd,  you  cyarn  mek  mammy  leave  off  whuppin' 
me.  You  cyarn  do  dat  widout  you  'uz  a  real  ole 
marster  hese'f." 

"  I  reckon  I  can,"  said  Champe,  indignantly.  "  I'd 
just  like  to  see  her  lay  hands  on  you  again.  I  can 
make  mammy  leave  off  whipping  him,  can't  I, 
-Betty?" 

But  Betty,  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  took  her  re- 
venge. 

"  'Tain't  so  long  since  yo'  mammy  whipped  you," 
she  rejoined.  "  An'  I  reckon  'tain't  so  long  since 
you  needed  it." 

As  she  stood  there,  a  spirited  little  figure,  in  a 
patch  of  faint  sunshine,  her  hair  threw  a  halo  of  red 
gold  about  her  head.  When  she  smiled  —  and  she 
smiled  now,  saucily  enough  —  her  eyes  had  a  trick 
of  narrowing  until  they  became  mere  beams  of  light 
between  her  lashes.  Her  eyes  would  smile,  though 
her  lips  were  as  prim  as  a  preacher's. 

Virginia  gave  a  timid  pull  at  Betty's  frock. 
"  Champe's  goin'  home  with  us,"  she  said,  "  his 
uncle  told  him  to  —  You're  goin'  home  with  us, 
ain't  you,  Champe  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  goin'  home,"  responded  Betty,  jerking 


8  The  Battle-Ground 

from  Virginia's  grasp.  She  stood  warm  yet  reso- 
lute in  the  middle  of  the  road,  her  bonnet  swinging 
in  her  hands.    "  I  ain't  goin'  home,"  she  repeated. 

Turning  his  back  squarely  upon  her,  Champe 
broke  into  a  whistle  of  unconcern.  "  You'd  just 
better  come  along,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  started  off.  "  You'd  just  better  come  along,  or 
you'll  catch  it." 

"  I  ain't  comin',"  answered  Betty,  defiantly,  and 
as  they  passed  away  kicking  the  dust  before  them, 
she  swung  her  bonnet  hard,  and  spoke  aloud  to  her- 
self.   "  I  ain't  comin',"  she  said  stubbornly. 

The  distance  lengthened;  the  three  small  figures 
passed  the  wheat  field,  stopped  for  an  instant  to 
gather  green  apples  that  had  fallen  from  a  stray 
apple  tree,  and  at  last  slowly  dwindled  into  the 
white  streak  of  the  road.  She  was  alone  on  the 
deserted  turnpike. 

For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  caught  her  breath, 
and  even  took  three  steps  on  the  homeward  way; 
then  turning  suddenly  she  ran  rapidly  in  the  oppo- 
site direction.  Over  the  deepening  shadows  she 
sped  as  lightly  as  a  hare. 

At  the  end  of  a  half  mile,  when  her  breath  came 
in  little  pants,  she  stopped  with  a  nervous  start  and 
looked  about  her.  The  loneliness  seemed  drawing 
closer  like  a  mist,  and  the  cry  of  a  whip-poor-will 
from  the  little  stream  in  the  meadow  sent  fright- 
ened thrills,  like  needles,  through  her  limbs. 

Straight  ahead  the  sun  was  setting  in  a  pale  red 
west,  against  which  the  mountains  stood  out  as  if 
sculptured  in  stone.  On  one  side  swept  the  pas- 
ture where  a  few  sheep  browsed;   on  the  other,  at 


"  De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg "        9 

the  place  where  two  roads  met,  there  was  a  blasted 
tree  that  threw  its  naked  shadow  across  the  turn- 
pike. Beyond  the  tree  and  its  shadow  a  well-worn 
foot-path  led  to  a  small  log  cabin  from  which  a 
streak  of  smoke  was  rising.  Through  the  open 
door  the  single  room  within  showed  ruddy  with 
the  blaze  of  resinous  pine. 

The  little  girl  daintily  picked  her  way  along  the 
foot-path  and  through  a  short  garden  patch  planted 
in  onions  and  black-eyed  peas.  Beside  a  bed  of 
sweet  sage  she  faltered  an  instant  and  hung  back. 
"  Aunt  Ailsey,"  she  called  tremulously,  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you,  Aunt  Ailsey."  She  stepped  upon 
the  smooth  round  stone  which  served  for  a  doorstep 
and  looked  into  the  room.  "  It's  me,  Aunt  Ailsey ! 
It's  Betty  Ambler,"  she  said. 

A  slow  shuffling  began  inside  the  cabin,  and  an 
old  negro  woman  hobbled  presently  to  the  daylight 
and  stood  peering  from  under  her  hollowed  palm. 
She  was  palsied  with  age  and  blear-eyed  with 
trouble,  and  time  had  ironed  all  the  kink  out  of  the 
thin  gray  locks  that  straggled  across  her  brow.  She 
peered  dimly  at  the  child  as  one  who  looks  from  a 
great  distance. 

"  I  lay  dat's  one  er  dese  yer  ole  hoot  owls,"  she 
muttered  querulously,  "  en  ef'n  'tis,  he  des  es  well 
be  a-hootin'  along  home,  caze  I  ain'  gwine  be  pes- 
tered wid  his  pranks.  Dar  ain'  but  one  kind  er 
somebody  es  will  sass  you  at  yo'  ve'y  do,'  en  dat's  a 
hoot  owl  es  is  done  loss  count  er  de  time  er  day  —  " 

"  I  ain't  an  owl,  Aunt  Ailsey,"  meekly  broke  in 
Betty,  "  an'  I  ain't  hootin'  at  you  —  " 

Aunt  Ailsey  reached  out  and  touched  her  hair. 


io  The  Battle-Ground 

"  You  ain'  none  er  Marse  Peyton's  chile,"  she  said. 
"  I'se  done  knowed  de  Amblers  sence  de  fu'st  one  er 
dem  wuz  riz,  en  dar  ain'  never  been  a'er  Ambler  wid 
a  carrot  haid  —  " 

The  red  ran  .from  Betty's  curls  into  her  face,  but 
she  smiled  politely  as  she  followed  Aunt  Ailsey 
into  the  cabin  and  sat  down  in  a  split-bottomed  chair 
upon  the  hearth.  The  walls  were  formed  of  rough, 
unpolished  logs,  and  upon  them,  as  against  an  un- 
finished background,  the  firelight  threw  reddish 
shadows  of  the  old  woman  and  the  child.  Overhead, 
from  the  uncovered  rafters,  hung  several  tattered 
sheepskins,  and  around  the  great  fireplace  there  was 
a  fringe  of  dead  snakes  and  lizards,  long  since  as 
dry  as  dust.  Under  the  blazing  logs,  which  filled  the 
hut  with  an  almost  unbearable  heat,  an  ashcake  was 
buried  beneath  a  little  gravelike  mound  of  ashes. 

Aunt  Ailsey  took  up  a  corncob  pipe  from  the 
stones  and  fell  to  smoking.  She  sank  at  once  into 
a  senile  reverie,  muttering  beneath  her  breath  with 
short,  meaningless  grunts.  Warm  as  the  summer 
evening  was,  she  shivered  before  the  glowing  logs. 

For  a  time  the  child  sat  patiently  watching  the 
embers;  then  she  leaned  forward  and  touched  the 
old  woman's  knee.    "  Aunt  Ailsey,  O  Aunt  Ailsey !  " 

Aunt  Ailsey  stirred  wearily  and  crossed  her 
swollen  feet  upon  the  hearth. 

"  Dar  ain'  nuttin'  but  a  hoot  owl  dat'll  sass  you 
ter  yo'  face,"  she  muttered,  and,  as  she  drew  her 
pipe  from  her  mouth,  the  gray  smoke  circled  about 
her  head. 

The  child  edged  nearer.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you, 
Aunt  Ailsey,"  she  said.     She  seized  the  withered 


"  De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg  "      1 1 

hand  and  held  it  close  in  her  own  rosy  ones.  "  I 
want  you  —  O  Aunt  Ailsey,  listen!  I  want  you  to 
conjure  my  hair  coal  black." 

She  finished  with  a  gasp,  and  with  parted  lips 
sat  waiting.  "  Coal  black,  Aunt  Ailsey !  "  she  cried 
again. 

A  sudden  excitement  awoke  in  the  old  woman's 
face ;  her  hands  shook  and  she  leaned  nearer.  "  Hi ! 
who  dat  done  tole  you  I  could  conjure,  honey?  "  she 
demanded. 

"  Oh,  you  can,  I  know  you  can.  You  conjured 
back  Sukey's  lover  from  Eliza  Lou,  and  you  con- 
jured all  the  pains  out  of  Uncle  Shadrach's  leg." 
She  fell  on  her  knees  and  laid  her  head  in  the  old 
woman's  lap.  "  Conjure  quick  and  I  won't  holler," 
she  said. 

"Gawd  in  heaven!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Ailsey. 
Her  dim  old  eyes  brightened  as  she  gently  stroked 
the  child's  brow  with  her  palsied  fingers.  "  Dis  yer 
ain'  no  way  ter  conjure,  honey,"  she  whispered. 
"  You  des  wait  twel  de  full  er  de  moon,  w'en  de 
devil  walks  de  big  road."  She  was  wandering 
again  after  the  fancies  of  dotage,  but  Betty  threw 
herself  upon  her.  "  Oh,  change  it !  change  it !  " 
cried  the  child.  "  Beg  the  devil  to  come  and  change 
it  quick." 

Brought  back  to  herself,  Aunt  Ailsey  grunted  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  her  pipe.  "  I  ain'  gwine  ter 
ax  no  favors  er  de  devil,"  she  replied  sternly.  "  You 
des  let  de  devil  alont  en  he'll  let  you  alont.  I'se 
done  been  young,  en  I'se  now  ole,  en  I  ain'  never 
seed  de  devil  stick  his  mouf  in  anybody's  bizness 
'fo'  he's  axed." 


12  The  Battle-Ground 

She  bent  over  and  raked  the  ashes  from  her  cake 
with  a  lightwood  splinter.  "  Dis  yer's  gwine  tase 
moughty  flat-footed,"  she  grumbled  as  she  did  so. 

"  O  Aunt  Ailsey,"  wailed  Betty  in  despair.  The 
tears  shone  in  her  eyes  and  rolled  slowly  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Dar  now,"  said  Aunt  Ailsey,  soothingly,  "  you 
des  set  right  still  en  wait  twel  ter-night  at  de  full  er 
de  moon."  She  got  up  and  took  down  one  of  the 
crumbling  skins  from  the  chimney-piece.  "  Ef'n  de 
hine  foot  er  a  he  frawg  cyarn  tu'n  yo'  hyar  decent," 
she  said,  "  dar  ain'  nuttin'  de  Lawd's  done  made  es 
'11  do  hit.  You  des  wrop  er  hank  er  yo'  hyar  roun' 
de  hine  foot,  honey,  en'  w'en  de  night  time  done 
come,  you  teck'n  hide  it  unner  a  rock  in  de  big  road. 
W'en  de  devil  goes  a-cotin'  at  de  full  er  de  moon  — 
en  he  been  cotin'  right  stiddy  roun'  dese  yer  parts  — 
he  gwine  tase  dat  ar  frawg  foot  a  mile  off." 

"  A  mile  off  ?  "  repeated  the  child,  stretching  out 
her  hands. 

"  Yes,  Lawd,  he  gwine  tase  dat  ar  frawg  foot  a 
mile  off,  en  w'en  he  tase  hit,  he  gwine  begin  ter 
sniff  en  ter  snuff.  He  gwine  sniff  en  he  gwine 
snuff,  en  he  gwine  sniff  en  he  gwine  snuff  twel  he 
run  right  spang  agin  de  rock  in  de  middle  er  de 
road.  Den  he  gwine  paw  en  paw  twel  he  root  de 
rock  clean  up." 

The  little  girl  looked  up  eagerly. 

"  An'  my  hair,  Aunt  Ailsey  ?  " 

"  De  devil  he  gwine  teck  cyar  er  yo'  hyar,  honey. 
W'en  he  come  a-sniffin'  en  a-snuffin'  roun'  de  rock 
in  de  big  road,  he  gwine  spit  out  flame  en  smoke  en 
yo'  hyar  hit's  gwine  ter  ketch  en  hit's  gwine  ter  bu'n 


**De  Hine  Foot  er  a  he  Frawg"      13 

right  black.  Fo'  de  sun  up  yo'  haid's  gwine  ter  be 
es  black  es  a  crow's  foot." 

The  child  dried  her  tears  and  sprang  up.  She 
tied  the  frog's  skin  tightly  in  her  handkerchief  and 
started  toward  the  door;  then  she  hesitated  and 
looked  back.  "  Were  you  alive  at  the  flood,  Aunt 
Ailsey  ?  "  she  politely  inquired. 

"  Des  es  live  es  I  is  now,  honey." 

"  Then  you  must  have  seen  Noah  and  the  ark 
and  all  the  animals  ?  " 

"  Des  es  plain  es  I  see  you.  Marse  Noah  ?  Why, 
I'se  done  wash  en  i'on  Marse  Noah's  shuts  twel  I 
'uz  right  stiff  in  de  j'ints.  He  ain'  never  let  nobody 
flute  his  frills  fur  'im  'cep'n'  me.  Lawd,  Lawd, 
Marse  Peyton's  shuts  warn'  nuttin  ter  Marse 
Noah's !  " 

Betty's  eyes  grew  big.  "  I  reckon  you're  mighty 
old,  Aunt  Ailsey  —  'most  as  old  as  God,  ain't  you  ?  " 

Aunt  Ailsey  pondered  the  question.  "  I  ain' 
sayin'  dat,  honey,"  she  modestly  replied. 

"  Then  you're  certainly  as  old  as  the  devil  —  you 
must  be,"  hopefully  suggested  the  little  girl. 

The  old  woman  wavered.  "  Well,  de  devil,  he  ain' 
never  let  on  his  age,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  but  w'en  I 
fust  lay  eyes  on  'im,  he  warn'  no  mo'n  a  brat." 

Standing  upon  the  threshold  for  an  instant,  the 
child  reverently  regarded  her.  Then,  turning  her 
back  upon  the  fireplace  and  the  bent  old  figure,  she 
ran  out  into  the  twilight, 


II 

AT  THE   FULL  OF   THE    MOOlf 

By  the  light  of  the  big  moon  hanging  like  a  lan- 
tern in  the  topmost  pine  upon  a  distant  mountain, 
the  child  sped  swiftly  along  the  turnpike. 

It  was  a  still,  clear  evening,  and  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  eastern  hills  a  fringe  of  ragged  firs 
stood  out  illuminated  against  the  sky.  In  the 
warm  June  weather  the  whole  land  was  fragrant 
from  the  flower  of  the  wild  grape. 

When  she  had  gone  but  a  little  way,  the  noise  of 
wheels  reached  her  suddenly,  and  she  shrank  into 
the  shadow  beside  the  wall.  A  cloud  of  dust 
chased  toward  her  as  the  wheels  came  steadily  on. 
They  were  evidently  ancient,  for  they  turned  with 
a  protesting  creak  which  was  heard  long  before  the 
high,  old-fashioned  coach  they  carried  swung  into 
view  —  long  indeed  before  the  driver's  whip 
cracked  in  the  air. 

As  the  coach  neared  the  child,  she  stepped  boldly 
out  into  the  road  —  it  was  only  Major  Lightfoot, 
the  owner  of  the  next  plantation,  returning,  be- 
lated, from  the  town. 

"  Wat  you  doin'  dar,  chile  ?  "  demanded  a  stern 
voice  from  the  box,  and,  at  the  words,  the  Major's 
head  was  thrust  through  the  open  window,  and  his 
long  white  hair  waved  in  the  breeze. 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  15 

"  Is  that  you,  Betty  ? "  he  asked,  in  surprise. 
"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  the  duty  of  that  nephew 
of  mine  to  see  you  home." 

"  I  wouldn't  let  him,"  replied  the  child.  "  I  don't 
like  boys,  sir." 

"You  don't,  eh?"  chuckled  the  Major.  "Well, 
there's  time  enough  for  that,  I  suppose.  You  can 
make  up  to  them  ten  years  hence,  —  and  you'll  be 
glad  enough  to  do  it  then,  I  warrant  you,  —  but  are 
you  all  alone,  young  lady  ? "  As  Betty  nodded,  he 
opened  the  door  and  stepped  gingerly  down.  "  I 
can't  turn  the  horses'  heads,  poor  things,"  he  ex- 
plained ;  "  but  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  escorting  you  on  foot." 

With  his  hat  in  his  hand,  he  smiled  down  upon 
the  little  girl,  his  face  shining  warm  and  red  above 
his  pointed  collar  and  broad  black  stock.  He  was 
very  tall  and  spare,  and  his  eyebrows,  which  hung 
thick  and  dark  above  his  Roman  nose,  gave  him  an 
odd  resemblance  to  a  bird  of  prey.  The  smile  flashed 
like  an  artificial  light  across  his  austere  features. 

"  Since  my  arm  is  too  high  for  you,"  he  said, 
"  will  you  have  my  hand  ?  —  Yes,  you  may  drive  on, 
Big  Abel,"  to  the  driver,  "  and  remember  to  take 
out  those  bulbs  of  Spanish  lilies  for  your  mistress. 
You  will  find  them  under  the  seat." 

The  whip  cracked  again  above  the  fat  old  roans, 
and  with  a  great  creak  the  coach  rolled  on  its  way. 

"I  —  I  —  if  you  please,  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't," 
stammered  the  child. 

The  Major  chuckled  again,  still  holding  out  his 
hand.  Had  she  been  eighty  instead  of  eight,  the 
gesture  could  not  have  expressed  more  deference. 


1 6  The  Battle-Ground 

"  So  you  don't  like  old  men  any  better  than  boys! " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  I  do  —  heaps,"  said  Betty.  She 
transferred  the  frog's  foot  to  her  left  hand,  and  gave 
him  her  right  one.  "  When  I  marry,  I'm  going  to 
marry  a  very  old  gentleman  —  as  old  as  you,"  she 
added  flatteringly. 

"  You  honour  me,"  returned  the  Major,  with  a 
bow ;  "  but  there's  nothing  like  youth,  my  dear, 
nothing  like  youth."  He  ended  sadly,  for  he  had 
been  a  gay  young  blood  in  his  time,  and  the  en- 
chantment of  his  wild  oats  had  increased  as  he 
passed  further  from  the  sowing  of  them.  He  had 
lived  to  regret  both  the  loss  of  his  gayety  and  the 
languor  of  his  blood,  and,  as  he  drifted  further 
from  the  middle  years,  he  had  at  last  yielded  to 
tranquillity  with  a  sigh.  In  his  day  he  had  matched 
any  man  in  Virginia  at  cards  or  wine  or  women  —  to 
say  nothing  of  horseflesh ;  now  his  white  hairs  had 
brought  him  but  a  fond,  pale  memory  of  his  mis- 
deeds and  the  boast  that  he  knew  his  world  —  that 
he  knew  all  his  world,  indeed,  except  his  wife. 

"  Ah,  there's  nothing  like  youth !  "  he  sighed  over 
to  himself,  and  the  child  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  You  will  know  some  day,"  replied  the  Major. 
He  drew  himself  erect  in  his  tight  black  broadcloth, 
and  thrust  out  his  chin  between  the  high  points  of  his 
collar.  His  long  white  hair,  falling  beneath  his 
hat,  framed  his  ruddy  face  in  silver.  "  There  are 
the  lights  of  Uplands,"  he  said  suddenly,  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand. 

Betty  quickened  her  pace  to  his,  and  they  went  on 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  17 

in  silence.  Through  the  thick  grove  that  ended  at 
the  roadside  she  saw  the  windows  of  her  home 
flaming  amid  the  darkness.  Farther  away  there 
were  the  small  lights  of  the  negro  cabins  in  the 
"  quarters,"  and  a  great  one  from  the  barn  door 
where  the  field  hands  were  strumming  upon  their 
banjos. 

"  I  reckon  supper's  ready,"  she  remarked,  walk- 
ing faster.  "  Yonder  comes  Peter,  from  the  kitchen 
with  the  waffles." 

They  entered  an  iron  gate  that  opened  from  the 
road,  and  went  up  a  lane  of  lilac  bushes  to  the  long 
stuccoed  house,  set  with  detached  wings  in  a  grove 
of  maples.  "  Why,  there's  papa  looking  for  me," 
cried  the  child,  as  a  man's  figure  darkened  the 
square  of  light  from  the  hall  and  came  between  the 
Doric  columns  of  the  portico  down  into  the  drive. 

"  You  won't  have  to  search  far,  Governor,"  called 
the  Major,  in  his  ringing  voice,  and,  as  the  other 
came  up  to  him,  he  stopped  to  shake  hands.  "  Miss 
Betty  has  given  me  the  pleasure  of  a  stroll  with 
her." 

"  Ah,  it  was  like  you,  Major,"  returned  the  other, 
heartily.  "  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  good  for  your  gout, 
though." 

He  was  a  small,  soldierly-looking  man,  with  a 
clean-shaven,  classic  face,  and  thick,  brown  hair, 
slightly  streaked  with  gray.  Beside  the  Major's 
gaunt  figure  he  appeared  singularly  boyish,  though 
he  held  himself  severely  to  the  number  of  his  inches, 
and  even  added,  by  means  of  a  simplicity  almost 
august,  a  full  cubit  to  his  stature.  Ten  years  be- 
fore he  had  been  governor  of  his  state,  and  to  his 


1 8  The  Battlc-Ground 

friends  and  neighbours  the  empty  honour,  at  least, 
was  still  his  own. 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  "  the  older  man  protested  airily^ 
u  the  gout's  like  a  woman,  my  dear  sir  —  if  you  be- 
gin to  humour  it,  you'll  get  no  rest.  If  you  deny 
yourself  a  half  bottle  of  port,  the  other  half  will 
soon  follow.  No,  no,  I  say  —  put  a  bold  foot  on  the 
matter.  Don't  give  up  a  good  thing  for  the  sake 
of  a  bad  one,  sir.  I  remember  my  grandfather  in 
England  telling  me  that  at  his  first  twinge  of  gout 
he  took  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  at  the  second  he  took 
two.  '  What !  would  you  have  my  toe  become  my 
master  ? '  he  roared  to  the  doctor.  '  I  wouldn't  give 
in  if  it  were  my  whole  confounded  foot,  sir! '  Oh, 
those  were  ripe  days,  Governor ! " 

"  A  little  overripe  for  the  toe,  I  fear,  Major." 

"  Well,  well,  we're  sober  enough  now,  sir,  sober 
enough  and  to  spare.  Even  the  races  are  dull 
things.  I've  just  been  in  to  have  a  look  at  that 
new  mare  Tom  Bickels  is  putting  on  the  track,  and 
bless  my  soul,  she  can't  hold  a  candle  to  the  Brown 
Bess  I  ran  twenty  years  ago  —  you  don't  remember 
Brown  Bess,  eh,  Governor  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  Governor.  "  I  can 
see  her  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  —  and  a  beauty  she 
was,  too,  —  but  come  in  to  supper  with  us,  my  dear 
Major;  we  were  just  sitting  down.  No,  i  shan't 
take  an  excuse  —  come  in,  sir,  come  in." 

"  No,  no,  thank  you,"  returned  the  Major. 
"  Molly's  waiting,  and  Molly  doesn't  like  to  wait, 
you  know.  I  got  dinner  at  Merry  Oaks  tavern  by 
the  way,  and  a  mighty  bad  one,  too,  but  the  worst 
thing  about  it  was  that  they  actually  had  the  impu* 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  19 

dence  to  put  me  at  the  table  with  an  abolitionist. 
Why,  I'd  as  soon  eat  with  a  darkey,  sir,  and  so  I  told 
him,  so  I  told  him !  " 

The  Governor  laughed,  his  fine,  brown  eyes 
twinkling  in  the  gloom,  "  You  were  always  a  maa 
of  your  word,"  he  said ;  "  so  I  must  tell  Julia  to 
mend  her  views  before  she  asks  you  to  dine.  She 
has  just  had  me  draw  up  my  will  and  free  the  ser- 
vants. There's  no  withstanding  Julia,  you  know, 
Major." 

"  You  have  an  angel,"  declared  the  other,  "  and 
she  gets  lovelier  every  day;  my  regards  to  her, — 
and  to  her  aunts,  sir.  Ah,  good  night,  good  night," 
and  with  a  last  cordial  gesture  he  started  rapidly 
upon  his  homeward  way. 

Betty  caught  the  Governor's  hand  and  went  with 
him  into  the  house.  As  they  entered  the  hall,  Uncle 
Shadrach,  the  head  butler,  looked  out  to  reprimand 
her.  "  Ef'n  anybody  'cep'n  Marse  Peyton  had 
cotch  you,  you'd  er  des  been  lammed,"  he  grumbled. 
"  An'  papa  was  real  mad !  "  called  Virginia  from 
the  table. 

"  That's  jest  a  story !  "  cried  Betty.  Still  cling- 
ing to  her  father's  hand,  she  entered  the  dining 
room ;  "  that's  jest  a  story,  papa,"  she  repeated. 

"  No,  I'm  not  angry,"  laughed  the  Governor. 
"  There,  my  dear,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  strangle 
me.  Your  mother's  the  one  for  you  to  hang  on. 
Can't  you  see  what  a  rage  she's  in  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Ambler,"  remonstrated  his  wife, 
looking  over  the  high  old  silver  service.  She  was 
very  frail  and  gentle,  and  her  voice  was  hardly  more 
than  a  clear  whisper.    "  No,  no,  Betty,  you  must 


20  The  Battle-Ground 

go  up  and  wash  your  face  first,"  she  added  de- 
cisively. 

The  Governor  sat  down  and  unfolded  his  nap- 
kin, beaming  hospitality  upon  his  food  and  his 
family.  He  surveyed  his  wife,  her  two  maiden 
aunts  and  his  own  elder  brother  with  the  ineffable 
good  humour  he  bestowed  upon  the  majestic  home- 
cured  ham  fresh  from  a  bath  of  Madeira. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well,  my  dear," 
he  remarked  to  his  wife,  with  a  courtliness  in 
which  there  was  less  polish  than  personality.  "  Ah, 
Miss  Lydia,  I  know  whom  to  thank  for  this,"  he 
added,  taking  up  a  pale  tea  rosebud  from  his  plate, 
and  bowing  to  one  of  the  two  old  ladies  seated  beside 
his  wife.  "  Have  you  noticed,  Julia,  that  even  the 
roses  have  become  more  plentiful  since  your  aunts 
did  us  the  honour  to  come  to  us  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  the  garden  ought  to  be  grateful  to 
Aunt  Lydia,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  pleased  smile, 
"  and  the  quinces  to  Aunt  Pussy,"  she  added 
quickly,  "  for  they  were  never  preserved  so  well 
before." 

The  two  old  ladies  blushed  and  cast  down  their 
eyes,  as  they  did  every  evening  at  the  same  kindly 
by-play.  "  You  know  I  am  very  glad  to  be  of 
use,  my  dear  Julia,"  returned  Miss  Pussy,  with  con- 
scious virtue.  Miss  Lydia,  who  was  tall  and  deli- 
cate and  bent  with  the  weight  of  potential  sanctity, 
shook  her  silvery  head  and  folded  her  exquisite 
old  hands  beneath  the  ruffles  of  her  muslin  under- 
sleeves.  She  wore  her  hair  in  shining  folds  be- 
neath her  thread-lace  cap,  and  her  soft  brown  eyes 
still  threw  a  youthful  lustre  over  the  faded  pallof 
of  her  face. 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  ai 

"  Pussy  has  always  had  a  wonderful  talent  for 
preserving,"  she  murmured  plaintively.  "  It  makes 
me  regret  my  own  uselessness." 

"  Uselessness !  "  warmly  protested  the  Governor. 
"  My  dear  Miss  Lydia,  your  mere  existence  is  a 
blessing  to  mankind.  A  lovely  woman  is  never  use- 
less, eh,  Brother  Bill?" 

Mr.  Bill,  a  stout  and  bashful  gentleman,  who 
never  wasted  words,  merely  bowed  over  his  plate; 
and  went  on  with  his  supper.  There  was  a  theory 
in  the  family  —  a  theory  romantic  old  Miss  Lydia 
still  hung  hard  by  —  that  Mr.  Bill's  peculiar  apathy 
was  of  a  sentimental  origin.  Nearly  thirty  years 
before  he  had  made  a  series  of  mild  advances  to  his 
second  cousin,  Virginia  Ambler  —  and  her  early 
death  before  their  polite  vows  were  plighted  had, 
in  the  eyes  of  his  friends,  doomed  the  morose  Mr. 
Bill  to  the  position  of  a  perpetual  mourner. 

Now,  as  he  shook  his  head  and  helped  himself  to 
chicken,  Miss  Lydia  sighed  in  sympathy. 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Bill  must  find  us  very  flippant," 
she  offered  as  a  gentle  reproof  to  the  Governor. 

Mr.  Bill  started  and  cast  a  frightened  glance 
across  the  table.  Thirty  years  are  not  as  a  day,  and, 
after  all,  his  emotion  had  been  hardly  more  than 
he  would  have  felt  for  a  prize  perch  that  had  wrig- 
gled from  his  line  into  the  stream.  The  perch,  in- 
deed, would  have  represented  more  appropriately 
the  passion  of  his  life  —  though  a  lukewarm  lover, 
he  was  an  ardent  angler. 

"  Ah,  Brother  Bill  understands  us,"  cheerfully 
interposed  the  Governor.  His  keen  eyes  had  noted 
Mr.  Bill's  alarm  as  they  noted  the  emptiness  of 

Fiction,  Vol.  15—2 


22  The  Battle-Ground 

Miss  Pussy's  cup.  "  By  the  way,  Julia,"  he  went 
on  with  a  change  of  the  subject,  "  Major  Lightfoot 
found  Betty  in  the  road  and  brought  her  home. 
The  little  rogue  had  run  away." 

Mrs.  Ambler  filled  Miss  Pussy's  cup  and  pressed 
Mr.  Bill  to  take  a  slice  of  Sally  Lunn.  "  The  Major 
is  so  broken  that  it  saddens  me,"  she  said,  when 
these  offices  of  hostess  were  accomplished.  "  He 
has  never  been  himself  since  his  daughter  ran  away, 
and  that  was  —  dear  me,  why  that  was  twelve  years 
ago  next  Christmas.  It  was  on  Christmas  Eve,  you 
remember,  he  came  to  tell  us.  The  house  was 
dressed  in  evergreens,  and  Uncle  Patrick  was  mak- 
ing punch." 

"  Poor  Patrick  was  a  hard  drinker,"  sighed  Miss 
Lydia ;  "  but  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  world,  my 
dear." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  perfectly  recall  the  evening,"  said 
the  Governor,  thoughtfully.  "  The  young  people 
were  just  forming  for  a  reel  and  you  and  I  were  of 
them,  my  dear,  —  it  was  the  year,  I  remember, 
that  the  mistletoe  was  brought  home  in  a  cart,  — 
when  the  door  opened  and  in  came  the  Major.  'Jane 
has  run  away  with  that  dirty  scamp  Mont  joy/  he 
said,  and  was  out  again  and  on  his  horse  before  we 
caught  the  words.  He  rode  like  a  madman  that 
night.  I  can  see  him  now,  splashing  through  the 
mud  with  Big  Abel  after  him." 

Betty  came  running  in  with  smiling  eyes,  and 
fluttered  into  her  seat.  "  I  got  here  before  the 
waffles,"  she  cried.  "  Mammy  said  I  wouldn't. 
Uncle  Shadrach,  I  got  here  before  you !  " 

"  Dat's  so,  honey,"   responded  Uncle   Shadrach 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  aj 

from  behind  the  Governor's  chair.  He  was  so  like 
his  master  —  commanding  port,  elaborate  shirt- 
front,  and  high  white  stock  —  that  the  Major,  in  a 
moment  of  merry-making,  had  once  dubbed  him 
"  the  Governor's  silhouette." 

"  Say  your  grace,  dear,"  remonstrated  Miss  Lydia, 
as  the  child  shook  out  her  napkin.  "  It's  always 
proper  to  offer  thanks  standing,  you  know.  I  re- 
member your  great-grandmother  telling  me  that 
once  when  she  dined  at  the  White  House,  when  her 
father  was  in  Congress,  the  President  forgot  to  say 
grace,  and  made  them  all  get  up  again  after  they 
were  seated.    Now,  for  what  are  we  about  —  " 

"  Oh,  papa  thanked  for  me,"  cried  Betty.  "  Didn't 
you,  papa  ?  " 

The  Governor  smiled;  but  catching  his  wife's 
eyes,  he  quickly  forced  his  benign  features  into  a 
frowning  mask. 

"  Do  as  your  aunt  tells  you,  Betty,"  said  Mrs. 
Ambler,  and  Betty  got  up  and  said  grace,  while 
Virginia  took  the  brownest  waffle.  When  the 
thanksgiving  was  ended,  she  turned  indignantly 
upon  her  sister.  "  That  was  just  a  sly,  mean  trick !  " 
she  cried  in  a  flash  of  temper.  "  You  saw  my  eye 
on  that  waffle !  " 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  murmured  Miss  Lydia. 

"  She's  des  an  our/n  out  fire  bran',  dat's  w'at  she 
is,"  said  Uncle  Shadrach. 

"  Well,  the  Lord  oughtn't  to  have  let  her  take  it 
just  as  I  was  thanking  Him  for  it ! "  sobbed  Betty, 
and  she  burst  into  tears  and  left  the  table,  upsetting 
Mr.  Bill's  coffee  cup  as  she  went  by. 

The  Governor  looked  gravely  after  her.     "  I'm 


24  The  Battle-Ground 

afraid  the  child  is  really  getting  spoiled,  Julia,"  he 
mildly  suggested. 

"  She's  getting  a  —  a  vixenish,"  declared  Mr. 
Bill,  mopping  his  expansive  white  waistcoat. 

"  You  des  better  lemme  go  atter  a  twig  er  wil- 
low, Marse  Peyton,"  muttered  Uncle  Shadrach  in 
the  Governor's  ear. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Shadrach,"  retorted  the 
Governor,  which  was  the  harshest  command  he  was 
ever  known  to  give  his  servants. 

Virginia  ate  her  waffle  and  said  nothing.  When 
she  went  upstairs  a  little  later,  she  carried  a  pitcher 
of  buttermilk  for  Betty's  face. 

"  It  isn't  usual  for  a  young  lady  to  have  freckles, 
Aunt  Lydia  says,"  she  remarked,  "  and  you  must 
rub  this  right  on  and  not  wash  it  off  till  morning  — 
and,  after  you've  rubbed  it  well  in,  you  must  get 
down  on  your  knees  and  ask  God  to  mend  your 
temper." 

Betty  was  lying  in  her  little  trundle  bed,  while 
Petunia,  her  small  black  maid,  pulled  off  her  stock- 
ings, but  she  got  up  obediently  and  laved  her  face 
in  buttermilk.  "  I  don't  reckon  there's  any  use  about 
the  other,"  she  said.  "  I  believe  the  Lord's  jest 
leavin'  me  in  sin  as  a  warnin'  to  you  and 
Petunia,"  and  she  got  into  her  trundle  bed  and 
waited  for  the  lights  to  go  out,  and  for  the  watchful 
Virginia  to  fall  asleep. 

She  was  still  waiting  when  the  door  softly  opened 
and  her  mother  came  in,  a  lighted  candle  in  her 
hand,  the  pale  flame  shining  through  her  profile 
as  through  delicate  porcelain,  and  illumining  her 
worn  and  fragile  figure.     She  moved  with  a  slow 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  25 

ft'tep,  as  if  her  white  limbs  were  a  burden,  and  her 
head,  with  its  smoothly  parted  bright  brown  hair, 
bent  like  a  lily  that  has  begun  to  fade. 

She  sat  down  upon  the  bedside  and  laid  her  hand 
on  the  child's  forehead.  "  Poor  little  firebrand,"  she 
said  gently.  "  How  the  world  will  hurt  you ! " 
Then  she  knelt  down  and  prayed  beside  her,  and 
went  out  again  with  the  white  light  streaming  upon 
her  bosom.  An  hour  later  Betty  heard  her  soft, 
slow  step  on  the  gravelled  drive  and  knew  that  she 
was  starting  on  a  ministering  errand  to  the  quar- 
ters. Of  all  the  souls  on  the  great  plantation,  the 
mistress  alone  had  never  rested  from  her  labours. 

The  child  tossed  restlessly,  beat  her  pillow,  and 
fell  back  to  wait  more  patiently.  At  last  the  yel- 
low strip  under  the  door  grew  dark,  and  from  the 
other  trundle  bed  there  came  a  muffled  breathing. 
With  a  sigh,  Betty  sat  up  and  listened;  then  she 
drew  the  frog's  skin  from  beneath  her  pillow  and 
crept  on  bare  feet  to  the  door.  It  was  black  there, 
and  black  all  down  the  wide,  old  staircase.  The 
great  hall  below  was  like  a  cavern  underground. 
Trembling  when  a  board  creaked  under  her,  she 
cautiously  felt  her  way  with  her  hands  on  the  bal- 
ustrade. The  front  door  was  fastened  with  an  iron 
chain  that  rattled  as  she  touched  it,  so  she  stole  into 
the  dining  room,  unbarred  one  of  the  long  win- 
dows, and  slipped  noiselessly  out.  It  was  almost 
like  sliding  into  sunshine,  the  moon  was  so  large 
and  bright. 

From  the  wide  stone  portico,  the  great  white 
columns,  looking  grim  and  ghostly,  went  upward 
to  the  roof,  and  beyond  the  steps  the  gravelled  drive 


26  The  Battle-Ground 

shone  hard  as  silver.  As  the  child  went  between 
the  lilac  bushes,  the  moving  shadows  crawled  under 
her  bare  feet  like  living  things. 

At  the  foot  of  the  drive  ran  the  big  road,  and 
when  she  came  out  upon  it  her  trailing  gown 
caught  in  a  fallen  branch,  and  she  fell  on  her  face. 
Picking  herself  up  again,  she  sat  on  a  loosened 
rock  and  looked  about  her. 

The  strong  night  wind  blew  on  her  flesh,  and  she 
shivered  in  the  moonlight,  which  felt  cold  and 
brazen.  Before  her  stretched  the  turnpike,  dark- 
ened by  shadows  that  bore  no  likeness  to  the  objects 
from  which  they  borrowed  shape.  Far  as  eye  could 
see,  they  stirred  ceaselessly  back  and  forth  like  an 
encamped  army  of  grotesques. 

She  got  up  from  the  rock  and  slipped  the  frog's 
skin  into  the  earth  beneath  it.  As  she  settled  it  in 
place,  her  pulses  gave  a  startled  leap,  and  she  stood 
terror-stricken  beside  the  stone.  A  thud5  of  foot- 
steps was  coming  along  the  road. 

For  an  instant  she  trembled  in  silence;  then  her 
sturdy  little  heart  took  courage,  and  she  held  up 
her  hand. 

"  If  you'll  wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Devil,  I'm  goin' 
in,"  she  cried. 

From  the  shadows  a  voice  laughed  at  her,  and  a 
boy  came  forward  into  the  light  —  a  half-starved 
boy,  with  a  white,  pinched  face  and  a  dusty  bundle 
swinging  from  the  stick  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he  snapped  out. 

Betty  gave  back  a  defiant  stare.  She  might 
have  been  a  tiny  ghost  in  the  moonlight,  with  her 
trailing  gown  and  her  flaming  curls 


At  the  Full  of  the  Moon  27 

"  I  live  here,"  she  answered  simply.  "  Where  do 
you  live  ?  " 

"  Nowhere."     He  looked  her  over  with  a  laugh. 

"Nowhere?" 

"  I  did  live  somewhere,  but  I  ran  away  a  week 
ago." 

"  Did  they  beat  you  ?  Old  Rainy-day  Jones  beat 
one  of  his  servants  and  he  ran  away." 

"  There  wasn't  anybody,"  said  the  boy.  "  My 
mother  died,  and  my  father  went  off  —  I  hope  he'll 
stay  off.    I  hate  him !  " 

He  sent  the  words  out  so  sharply  that  Betty's  lids 
flinched. 

"  Why  did  you  come  by  here  ? "  she  questioned,, 
"  Are  you  looking  for  the  devil,  too  ?  " 

The  boy  laughed  again.  "  I  am  looking  for  my 
grandfather.  He  lives  somewhere  on  this  road, 
at  a  place  named  Chericoke.  It  has  a  lot  of  elms  in 
the  yard;    I'll  know  it  by  that." 

Betty  caught  his  arm  and  drew  him  nearer. 
"  Why,  that's  where  Champe  lives  !  "  she  cried.  "  I 
don't  like  Champe  much,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  him,"  replied  the  boy ;  "  but  I  don't 
like  him  —  " 

"  He's  mighty  good,"  said  Betty,  honestly ;  then, 
as  she  looked  at  the  boy  again,  she  caught  her 
breath  quickly.  "  You  do  look  terribly  hungry,"  she 
added. 

"  I  haven't  had  anything  since  —  since  yesterday." 

The  little  girl  thoughtfully  tapped  her  toes  on 
the  road.  "  There's  a  currant  pie  in  the  safe,"  she 
said.  "  I  saw  Uncle  Shadrach  put  it  there.  Are 
you  fond  of  currant  pie?  —  then  you  just  wait!  " 


28  The  Battle-Ground 

She  ran  up  the  carriage  way  to  the  dining-room 
window,  and  the  boy  sat  down  on  the  rock  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  His  feet  were  set  stub- 
bornly in  the  road,  and  the  bundle  lay  beside  them. 
He  was  dumb,  yet  disdainful,  like  a  high-bred  dog 
that  has  been  beaten  and  turned  adrift. 

As  the  returning  patter  of  Betty's  feet  sounded  in 
the  drive,  he  looked  up  and  held  out  his  hands. 
When  she  gave  him  the  pie,  he  ate  almost  wolfishly, 
licking  the  crumbs  from  his  fingers,  and  even  pick- 
ing up  a  bit  of  crust  that  had  fallen  to  the 
ground. 

"  I'm  sorry  there  isn't  any  more,"  said  the  little 
girl.  It  had  seemed  a  very  large  pie  when  she  took 
it  from  the  safe. 

The  boy  rose,  shook  himself,  and  swung  his  bun- 
dle across  his  arm. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  the  way  ?  "  he  asked,  and  she 
gave  him  a  few  childish  directions.  "  You  go  past 
the  wheat  field  an'  past  the  maple  spring,  an'  at  the 
dead  tree  by  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin  you  turn  into  the 
road  with  the  chestnuts.  Then  you  just  keep  on 
till  you  get  there  —  an'  if  you  don't  ever  get  there, 
come  back  to  breakfast." 

The  boy  had  started  off,  but  as  she  ended,  he 
turned  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said,  with' 
a  quaint  little  bow ;  and  Betty  bobbed  a  courtesy  in 
her  nightgown  before  she  fled  back  into  the  house. 


Ill 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   BOY 

The  boy  trudged  on  bravely,  his  stick  sounding" 
the  road.  Sharp  pains  ran  through  his  feet  where 
his  shoes  had  worn  away,  and  his  head  was  swim- 
ming like  a  top.  The  only  pleasant  fact  of  which  he 
had  consciousness  was  that  the  taste  of  the  currants 
still  lingered  in  his  mouth. 

When  he  reached  the  maple  spring,  he  swung 
himself  over  the  stone  wall  and  knelt  down  for  a 
drink,  dipping  the  water  in  his  hand.  The  spring 
was  low  and  damp  and  fragrant  with  the  breath  of 
mint  which  grew  in  patches  in  the  little  stream. 
Overhead  a  wild  grapevine  was  festooned,  and  he 
plucked  a  leaf  and  bent  it  into  a  cup  from  which  he 
drank.  Then  he  climbed  the  wall  again  and  went 
on  his  way. 

He  was  wondering  if  his  mother  had  ever  walked 
along  this  road  on  so  brilliant  a  night.  There  was 
not  a  tree  beside  it  of  which  she  had  not  told  him 

—  not  a  shrub  of  sassafras  or  sumach  that  she  had 
not  carried  in  her  thoughts.  The  clump  of  cedars, 
the  wild  cherry,  flowering  in  the  spring  like  snow, 
the  blasted  oak  that  stood  where  the  branch  roads 
met,  the.  perfume  of  the  grape  blossoms  on  the  wall 

—  these  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  streets  of  the 
little  crowded  town  in  which  he  had  lived.  It  was  as 
if  nature  had  stood  still  here  for  twelve  long  suna- 

«9 


30  The  Battle-Ground 

mers,  or  as  if  he  were  walking,  ghostlike,  amid  the 
ever  present  memories  of  his  mother's  heart. 

His  mother !  He  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes 
and  went  on  more  slowly.  She  was  beside  him  on 
the  road,  and  he  saw  her  clearly,  as  he  had  seen  her 
every  day  until  last  year  —  a  bright,  dark  woman, 
with  slender,  blue-veined  hands  and  merry  eyes 
that  all  her  tears  had  not  saddened.  He  saw  her 
in  a  long,  black  dress,  with  upraised  arm,  putting 
back  a  crepe  veil  from  her  merry  eyes,  and  smiling 
as  his  father  struck  her.  She  had  always  smiled 
when  she  was  hurt  —  even  when  the  blow  was 
heavier  than  usual,  and  the  blood  gushed  from  her 
temple,  she  had  fallen  with  a  smile.  And  when,  at 
last,  he  had  seen  her  lying  in  her  coffin  with  her 
baby  under  her  clasped  hands,  that  same  smile  had 
been  fixed  upon  her  face,  which  had  the  brightness 
and  the  chill  repose  of  marble. 

Of  all  that  she  had  thrown  away  in  her  foolish 
marriage,  she  had  retained  one  thing  only  —  her 
pride.  To  the  end  she  had  faced  her  fate  with  all 
the  insolence  with  which  she  faced  her  husband. 
And  yet  —  "  the  Lightfoots  were  never  proud,  my 
son,"  she  used  to  say;  "they  have  no  false  pride, 
but  they  know  their  place,  and  in  England,  between 
you  and  me,  they  were  more  important  than  the 
Washingtons.  Not  that  the  General  wasn't  a  great 
man,  dear,  he  was  a  very  great  soldier,  of  course  — 
and  in  his  youth,  you  know,  he  was  an  admirer  of 
your  Great-great-aunt  Emmeline.  But  she  —  why, 
she  was  the  beauty  and  belle  of  two  continents  — 
there's  an  ottoman  at  home  covered  with  a  piece  of 
her  wedding  dress." 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  31 

And  the  house?  Was  the  house  still  as  she  had 
left  it  on  that  Christmas  Eve ?  "A  simple  gentle- 
man's home,  my  child  —  not  so  imposing  as  Up- 
lands, with  its  pillars  reaching  to  the  roof,  but 
older,  oh,  much  older,  and  built  of  brick  that  was 
brought  all  the  way  from  England,  and  over  the 
fireplace  in  the  panelled  parlour  you  will  find  the 
Lightfoot  arms. 

"  It  was  in  that  parlour,  dear,  that  grandmamma 
danced  a  minuet  with  General  Lafayette;  it  looks 
out,  you  know,  upon  a  white  thorn  planted  by  the 
General  himself,  and  one  of  the  windows  has  not 
been  opened  for  fifty  years,  because  the  spray  of 
English  ivy  your  Great-aunt  Emmeline  set  out  with 
her  own  hands  has  grown  across  the  sash.  Now 
the  window  is  quite  dark  with  leaves,  though  you 
can  still  read  the  words  Aunt  Emmeline  cut  with 
her  diamond  ring  in  one  of  the  tiny  panes,  when 
young  Harry  Fitzhugh  came  in  upon  her  just  as  she 
had  written  a  refusal  to  an  English  earl.  She  was 
sitting  in  the  window  seat  with  the  letter  in  her 
hand,  and,  when  your  Great-uncle  Harry  —  she 
afterwards  married  him,  you  know  —  fell  on  his 
knees  and  cried  out  that  others  might  offer  her  fame 
and  wealth,  but  that  he  had  nothing  except  love, 
she  turned,  with  a  smile,  and  wrote  upon  the  pane 
'  Love  is  best.'  You  can  still  see  the  words,  very 
faint  against  the  ivy  that  she  planted  on  her  wed- 
ding day  —  " 

Oh,  yes,  he  knew  it  all  —  Great-aunt  Emmeline 
was  but  the  abiding  presence  of  the  place.  He 
knew  the  lawn  with  its  grove  of  elms  that  over- 
topped the  peaked  roof,  the  hall,  with  its  shining 


32  The  Battle-Ground 

floor  and  detached  staircase  that  crooked  itself  in 
the  centre  where  the  tall  clock  stood,  and,  best  of 
all,  the  white  panels  of  the  parlour  where  hung  the 
portrait  of  that  same  fascinating  great-aunt,  painted, 
in  amber  brocade,  as  Venus  with  the  apple  in  her 
hand. 

And  his  grandmother,  herself,  in  her  stiff  black 
silk,  with  a  square  of  lace  turned  back  from  her  thin 
throat  and  a  fluted  cap  above  her  corkscrew  curls 
— her  daguerreotype,  taken  in  all  her  pride  and  her 
precision,  was  tied  up  in  the  bundle  swinging  on  his 
arm. 

He  passed  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin,  and  turned  into 
the  road  with  the  chestnuts.  A  mile  farther  he 
came  suddenly  upon  the  house,  standing  amid  the 
grove  of  elms,  dwarfed  by  the  giant  trees  that  arched 
above  it.  A  dog's  bark  sounded  snappily  from  a 
kennel,  but  he  paid  no  heed.  He  went  up  the  broad 
white  walk,  climbed  the  steps  to  the  square  front 
porch,  and  lifted  the  great  brass  knocker.  When  he 
let  it  fall,  the  sound  echoed  through  the  shuttered 
house. 

The  Major,  who  was  sitting  in  his  library  with  a 
volume  of  Mr.  Addison  open  before  him  and  a  de- 
canter of  Burgundy  at  his  right  hand,  heard  the 
knock,  and  started  to  his  feet.  "  Something's  gone 
wrong  at  Uplands,"  he  said  aloud ;  "  there's  an  ill- 
ness —  or  the  brandy  is  out."  He  closed  the  book, 
pushed  aside  the  bedroom  candle  which  he  had 
been  about  to  light,  and  went  out  into  the  hall.  As 
he  unbarred  the  door  and  flung  it  open,  he  began  at 
©nee: — 

"  I  hope  there's  no  ill  news,"  he  exclaimed. 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  33 

The  boy  came  into  the  hall,  where  he  stood  blink- 
ing from  the  glare  of  the  lamplight.  His  head 
whirled,  and  he  reached  out  to  steady  himself 
against  the  door.  Then  he  carefully  laid  down  his 
bundle  and  looked  up  with  his  mother's  smile. 

"  You're  my  grandfather,  and  I'm  very  hungry," 
he  said. 

The  Major  caught  the  child's  shoulders  and  drew 
him,  almost  roughly,  under  the  light.  As  he  tow- 
ered there  above  him,  he  gulped  down  something  in 
his  throat,  and  his  wide  nostrils  twitched. 

"  So  you're  poor  Jane's  boy  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

The  boy  nodded.  He  felt  suddenly  afraid  of  the 
spare  old  man  with  his  long  Roman  nose  and  his 
fierce  black  eyebrows.  A  mist  gathered  before  his 
eyes  and  the  lamp  shone  like  a  great  moon  in  a 
cloudy  circle. 

The  Major  looked  at  the  bundle  on  the  floor,  and 
again  he  swallowed.  Then  he  stooped  and  picked 
up  the  thing  and  turned  away. 

"  Come  in,  sir,  come  in,"  he  said  in  a  knotty  voice. 
"  You  are  at  home." 

The  boy  followed  him,  and  they  passed  the  pan- 
elled parlour,  from  which  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
painting  of  Great-aunt  Emmeline,  and  went  into 
the  dining  room,  where  his  grandfather  pulled  out 
a  chair  and  bade  him  to  be  seated.  As  the  old  man 
opened  the  huge  mahogany  sideboard  and  brought 
out  a  shoulder  of  cold  lamb  and  a  plate  of  bread 
and  butter,  he  questioned  him  with  a  quaint  cour- 
tesy about  his  life  in  town  and  the  details  of  his 
journey.  "  Why,  bless  my  soul,  you've  walked  two 
hundred  miles,"  he  cried,  stopping  on  his  way  from 


34  The  Battle-Ground 

the  pantry,  with  the  ham  held  out.  "  And  no 
money !    Why,  bless  my  soul !  " 

"  I  had  fifty  cents,"  said  the  boy,  "  that  was  left 
from  my  steamboat  fare,  you  know." 

The  Major  put  the  ham  on  the  table  and  attacked 
it  grimly  with  the  carving-knife. 

"  Fifty  cents,"  he  whistled,  and  then,  "  you 
begged,  I  reckon  ?  " 

The  boy  flushed.  "  I  asked  for  bread,"  he  re- 
plied, stung  to  the  defensive.  "  They  always  gave 
me  bread  and  sometimes  meat,  and  they  let  me 
sleep  in  the  barns  where  the  straw  was,  and  once  a 
woman  took  me  into  her  house  and  offered  me 
money,  but  I  would  not  take  it.  I  —  I  think  I'd  like 
to  send  her  a  present,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  She  shall  have  a  dozen  bottles  of  my  best  Ma- 
deira," cried  the  Major.  The  word  recalled  him 
to  himself,  and  he  got  up  and  raised  the  lid  of  the 
cellaret,  lovingly  running  his  hand  over  the  rows 
of  bottles. 

"  A  pig  would  be  better,  I  think,"  said  the  boy, 
doubtfully,  "  or  a  cow,  if  you  could  afford  it.  She 
is  a  poor  woman,  you  know." 

"Afford  it!"  chuckled  the  Major.  "Why,  I'll 
sell  your  grandmother's  silver,  but  I'll  afford  it, 
sir." 

He  took  out  a  bottle,  held  it  against  the  light,  and 
filled  a  wine  glass.  "  This  is  the  finest  port  in  Vir- 
ginia," he  declared ;  "  there  is  life  in  every  drop  of 
it.  Drink  it  down,"  and,  when  the  boy  had  taken 
it,  he  filled  his  own  glass  and  tossed  it  off,  not  lin- 
gering, as  usual,  for  the  priceless  flavour.  "  Two 
hundred  miles !  "  he  gasped,  as  he  looked  at  the  child 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  35 

with  moist  eyes  over  which  his  red  lids  half  closed. 
"  Ah,  you're  a  Lightfoot,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
should  know  you  were  a  Lightfoot  if  I  passed  you  in 
the  road."  He  carved  a  slice  of  ham  and  held  it 
out  on  the  end  of  the  knife.  "  It's  long  since  you've 
tasted  a  ham  like  this  —  browned  in  bread  crumbs," 
he  added  temptingly,  but  the  boy  gravely  shook  his 
head. 

"  I've  had  quite  enough,  thank  you,  sir,"  he  an- 
swered with  a  quaint  dignity,  not  unlike  his  grand- 
father's and  as  the  Major  rose,  he  stood  up  also, 
lifting  his  black  head  to  look  in  the  old  man's  face 
with  his  keen  gray  eyes. 

The  Major  took  up  the  bundle  and  moved  toward 
the  door.  "  You  must  see  your  grandmother,"  he 
said  as  they  went  out,  and  he  led  the  way  up  the 
crooked  stair  past  the  old  clock  in  the  bend.  On  the 
first  landing  he  opened  a  door  and  stopped  upon 
the  threshold.  "  Molly,  here  is  poor  Jane's  boy,"  he 
said. 

In  the  centre  of  a  big  four-post  bed,  curtained  in 
white  dimity,  a  little  old  lady  was  lying  between 
lavender-scented  sheets.  On  her  breast  stood  a  tall 
silver  candlestick  which  supported  a  well-worn  vol- 
ume of  "  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  held  open  by  a 
pair  of  silver  snuffers.  The  old  lady's  face  was 
sharp  and  wizened,  and  beneath  her  starched  white 
nightcap  rose  the  knots  of  her  red  flannel  curlers. 
Her  eyes,  which  were  very  small  and  black,  held  a 
flickering  brightness  like  that  in  live  embers. 

"  Whose  boy,  Mr.  Lightfoot  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

Holding  the  child  by  the  hand,  the  Major  went 
into  the  room, 


36  The  Battle-Ground 

"  It's  poor  Jane's  boy,  Molly,"  he  repeated 
huskily. 

The  old  lady  raised  her  head  upon  her  high  pil- 
lows, and  looked  at  him  by  the  light  of  the  candle  on 
her  breast.  "  Are  you  Jane's  boy  ?  "  she  questioned 
in  suspicion,  and  at  the  child's  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  she 
said,  "  Come  nearer.  There,  stand  between  the  cur- 
tains. Yes,  you  are  Jane's  boy,  I  see."  She  gave 
the  decision  flatly,  as  if  his  parentage  were  a  matter 
of  her  pleasure.  "  And  what  is  your  name  ?  "  she 
added,  as  she  snuffed  the  candle. 

The  boy  looked  from  her  stiff  white  nightcap  to 
the  "  log-cabin  "  quilt  on  the  bed,  and  then  at  her 
steel  hoops  which  were  hanging  from  a  chair  back. 
He  had  always  thought  of  her  as  in  her  rich  black 
silk,  with  the  tight  gray  curls  about  her  ears,  and  at 
this  revelation  of  her  inner  mysteries,  his  fancy  re- 
ceived a  checkmate. 

But  he  met  her  eyes  again  and  answered  simply, 
"  Dandridge  —  they  call  me  Dan  —  Dan  Mont- 
joy." 

"  And  he  has  walked  two  hundred  miles,  Molly," 
gasped  the  Major. 

"  Then  he  must  be  tired,"  was  the  old  lady's  re- 
joinder, and  she  added  with  spirit :  "  Mr.  Lightfoot, 
will  you  show  Dan  to  Jane's  old  room,  and  see  that 
he  has  a  blanket  on  his  bed.  He  should  have  been 
asleep  hours  ago  —  good  night,  child,  be  sure  and 
say  your  prayers,"  and  as  they  crossed  the  threshold, 
she  laid  aside  her  book  and  blew  out  her  light. 

The  Major  led  the  way  to  "  Jane's  old  room  "  at 
the  end  of  the  hall,  and  fetched  a  candle  from  some- 
where outside.    "  I  think  you'll  find  everything  you 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  37 

need,"  he  said,  stooping  to  feel  the  covering  on  the 
bed.  "  Your  grandmother  always  keeps  the  rooms 
ready.  God  bless  you,  my  son,"  and  he  went  out, 
softly  closing  the  door  after  him. 

The  boy  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  tester  bed, 
and  looked  anxiously  round  the  three-cornered 
room,  with  its  sloping  windows  filled  with  small, 
square  panes  of  glass.  By  the  candlelight,  flicker- 
ing on  the  plain,  white  walls  and  simple  furniture, 
he  tried  to  conjure  back  the  figure  of  his  mother,  — 
handsome  Jane  Lightfoot.  Over  the  mantel  hung 
two  crude  drawings  from  her  hand,  and  on  the 
table  at  the  bedside  there  were  several  books  with 
her  name  written  in  pale  ink  on  the  fly  leaves. 
The  mirror  to  the  high  old  bureau  seemed  still  to 
hold  the  outlines  of  her  figure,  very  shadowy  against 
the  greenish  glass.  He  saw  her  in  her  full  white 
skirts  —  she  had  worn  nine  petticoats,  he  knew,  on 
grand  occasions  —  fastening  her  coral  necklace 
about  her  stately  throat,  the  bands  of  her  black 
hair  drawn  like  a  veil  above  her  merry  eyes.  Had 
she  lingered  on  that  last  Christmas  Eve,  be  won- 
dered, when  her  candlestick  held  its  sprig  of  mistle- 
toe and  her  room  was  dressed  in  holly?  Did  she 
look  back  at  the  cheerful  walls  and  the  stately  fur- 
niture before  she  blew  out  her  light  and  went  down- 
stairs to  ride  madly  off,  wrapped  in  his  father's 
coat?  And  the  old  people  drank  their  eggnog  and 
watched  the  Virginia  reel,  and,  when  they  found 
her  gone,  shut  her  out  forever. 

Now,  as  he  sat  on  the  bed-steps,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  had  come  home  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life.    All  this  was  his  own  by  right,  —  the  queer 


38  The  Battle-Ground 

old  house,  his  mother's  room,  and  beyond  the  slop- 
ing windows,  the  meadows  with  their  annual  yield 
of  grain.  He  felt  the  pride  of  it  swelling  within 
him ;  he  waited  breathlessly  for  the  daybreak  when 
he  might  go  out  and  lord  it  over  the  fields  and  the 
cattle  and  the  servants  that  were  his  also.  And  at 
last  —  his  head  big  with  his  first  day's  vanity  —  he 
climbed  between  the  dimity  curtains  and  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awaked  next  morning,  the  sun  was 
shining  through  the  small  square  panes,  and  out- 
side were  the  waving  elm  boughs  and  a  clear  sky. 
He  was  aroused  by  a  knock  on  his  door,  and,  as 
he  jumped  out  of  bed,  Big  Abel,  the  Major's  driver 
and  confidential  servant,  came  in  with  the  warm* 
water.  He  was  a  strong,  finely-formed  negro,  black 
as  the  ace  of  spades  (so  the  Major  put  it),  and  of  a 
singularly  open  countenance. 

"  Hi !  ain't  you  up  yit,  young  Marster  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Sis  Rhody,  she  sez  she  done  save  you  de 
bes'  puffovers  you  ever  tase,  en  ef'n  you  don'  come 
'long  down,  dey'll  fall  right  flat." 

"  Who  is  Sis  Rhody  ?  "  inquired  the  boy,  as  he 
splashed  the  water  on  his  face. 

"Who  she?    Why,  she  de  cook." 

"  All  right,  tell  her  I'm  coming,"  and  he  dressed 
hurriedly  and  ran  down  into  the  hall  where  he 
found  Champe  Lightfoot,  the  Major's  great-nephew, 
who  lived  at  Chericoke. 

"  Hello !  "  called  Champe  at  once,  plunging  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  presenting  an  expression 
of  eager  interest.     "  When  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"  Last  night,"  Dan  replied,  and  they  stood  star- 
ing at  each  other  with  two  pairs  of  the  Lightfoot 
gray  eyes. 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  39 

"  How'd  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  walked  some  and  I  came  part  the  way  on  a 
steamboat.    Did  you  ever  see  a  steamboat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shucks !  A  steamboat  ain't  anything.  I've 
seen  George  Washington's  sword.  Do  you  like  to 
fish?" 

"  I  never  fished.     I  lived  in  a  city." 

Zeke  came  in  with  a  can  of  worms,  and  Champe 
gave  them  the  greater  share  of  his  attention.  "  I 
tell  you  what,  you'd  better  learn,"  he  said  at  last, 
returning  the  can  to  Zeke  and  taking  up  his  fishing- 
rod.  "  There' re  a  lot  of  perch  down  yonder  in  the 
river,"  and  he  strode  out,  followed  by  the  small 
negro. 

Dan  looked  after  him  a  moment,  and  then  went 
into  the  dining  room,  where  his  grandmother  was 
sitting  at  the  head  of  her  table,  washing  her  pink 
teaset  in  a  basin  of  soapsuds.  She  wore  her  stiff, 
black  silk  this  morning  with  its  dainty  undersleeves 
of  muslin,  and  her  gray  curls  fell  beneath  her  cap 
of  delicate  yellowed  lace.  "  Come  and  kiss  me, 
child,"  she  said  as  he  entered.  "  Did  you  sleep 
well?" 

"  I  didn't  wake  once,"  answered  the  boy,  kissing 
her  wrinkled  cheek. 

"  The!n  you  must  eat  a  good  breakfast  and  go  to 
your  grandfather  in  the  library.  Your  grandfather 
is  a  very  learned  man,  Dan,  he  reads  Latin  every 
morning  in  the  library.  —  Cupid,  has  Rhody  a 
freshly  broiled  chicken  for  your  young  master  ? " 

She  got  up  and  rustled  about  the  room,  arrang- 
ing the  pink  teaset  behind  the  glass  doors  of  the 
corner  press.    Then  she  slipped  her  key  basket  over 


40  The  Battle-Ground 

her  arm  and  fluttered  in  and  out  of  the  storeroom, 
stopping  at  intervals  to  scold  the  stream  of  servants 
that  poured  in  at  the  dining-room  door.  "  Ef'n  you 
don'  min',  Ole  Miss,  Paisley,  she  done  got  de  colick 
f  om  a  hull  pa'cel  er  green  apples,"  and  "  Abram 
he's  des  a-shakin'  wid  a  chill  en  he  say  he  cyarn  go 
ter  de  co'n  field." 

"  Wait  a  minute  and  be  quiet,"  the  old  lady  re- 
sponded briskly,  for,  as  the  boy  soon  learned,  she 
prided  herself  upon  her  healing  powers,  and  suffered 
no  outsider  to  doctor  her  husband  or  her  slaves. 
"  Hush,  Silas,  don't  say  a  word  until  I  tell  you. 
Cupid  —  you  are  the  only  one  with  any  sense  — 
measure  Paisley  a  dose  of  Jamaica  ginger  from 
the  bottle  on  the  desk  in  the  office,  and  send  Abram 
a  drink  of  the  bitters  in  the  brown  jug  —  why,  Car'- 
line,  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  into  the  house 
with  a  slit  in  your  apron?" 

"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  Ole  Miss,  hit's  des  done  cotch  on 
de  fence.  All  de  ducks  Aun'  Meeley  been  fattenin' 
up  fur  you  done  got  loose  en  gone  ter  water." 

"  Well,  you  go,  too,  every  one  of  you !  "  and  she 
dismissed  them  with  waves  of  her  withered,  little 
hands.  "  Send  them  out,  Cupid.  No,  Car'line,  not 
a  word.  Don't  '  Ole  Miss  '  me,  I  tell  you !  "  and  the 
servants  streamed  out  again  as  they  had  come. 

When  he  had  finished  his  breakfast  the  boy  went 
back  into  the  hall  where  Big  Abel  was  taking  down 
the  Major's  guns  from  the  rack,  and,  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  strapping  figure  and  kindly  black  face, 
he  smiled  for  the  first  time  since  his  home-coming. 
With  a  lordly  manner,  he  went  over  and  held  out 
bis  hand. 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  41 

"  I  like  you,  Big  Abel,"  he  said  gravely,  and  he 
followed  him  out  into  the  yard. 

For  the  next  few  weeks  he  did  not  let  Big  Abel 
out  of  his  sight.  He  rode  with  him  to  the  pasture, 
he  sat  with  him  on  his  doorstep  of  a  fine  evening, 
and  he  drove  beside  him  on  the  box  when  the  old 
coach  went  out.  "  Big  Abel  says  a  gentleman 
doesn't  go  barefooted,"  he  said  to  Champe  when 
he  found  him  without  his  shoes  in  the  meadow,  "  and 
I'm  a  gentleman." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  what  Big  Abel  knows  about  it," 
promptly  retorted  Champe,  and  Dan  grew  white 
with  rage  and  proceeded  to  roll  up  his  sleeves.  "  I'll 
whip  any  man  who  says  Big  Abel  doesn't  know  a 
gentleman !  "  he  cried,  making  a  lunge  at  his 
cousin.  In  point  of  truth,  it  was  Champe  who  did 
the  whipping  in  such  free  fights ;  but  bruises  and  a 
bleeding  nose  had  never  scared  the  savage  out  of 
Dan.  He  would  spring  up  from  his  last  tumble  as 
from  his  first,  and  let  fly  at  his  opponent  until  Big 
Abel  rushed,  in  tears,  between  them. 

From  the  garrulous  negro,  the  boy  soon  learned 
the  history  of  his  family  —  learned,  indeed,  much 
about  his  grandfather  of  which  the  Major  himself 
was  quite  unconscious.  He  heard  of  that  kindly, 
rollicking  early  life,  half  wild  and  wholly  good- 
humoured,  in  which  the  eldest  male  Lightfoot  had 
squandered  his  time  and  his  fortune.  Why,  was  not 
the  old  coach  itself  but  an  existing  proof  of  Big 
Abel's  stories  ?  "  'Twan'  mo'n  twenty  years  back 
dat  Ole  Miss  had  de  fines'  car'ige  in  de  county,"  he 
began  one  evening  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  boy 
drove  away  a  brood  of  half-fledged  chickens  and 


43  The  Battle-Ground 

settled  himself  to  listen.  "  Hadn't  you  better  light 
your  pipe,  Big  Abel  ?  w  he  inquired  courteously. 

Big  Abel  shuffled  into  the  cabin  and  came  back 
with  his  corncob  pipe  and  a  lighted  taper.  "  We  all 
am'  rid  in  de  ole  coach  den,"  he  said  with  a  sigh, 
as  he  sucked  at  the  long  stem,  and  threw  the  taper 
at  the  chickens.  "  De  ole  coach  hit  uz  th'owed  away 
in  de  out'ouse,  en  I  'uz  des  stiddyin'  'bout  splittin'  it 
up  fer  kindlin'  wood  —  en  de  new  car'ige  hit  cos' 
mos'  a  mint  er  money.  Ole  Miss  she  uz  dat  sot  up 
dat  she  ain'  let  de  hosses  git  no  sleep  —  nor  me 
nurr.  Ef'n  she  spy  out  a  speck  er  dus'  on  dem  ar 
wheels,  somebody  gwine  year  f'om  it,  sho's  you 
bo'n  —  en  dat  somebody  wuz  me.  Yes,  Lawd,  Ole 
Miss  she  'low  dat  dey  ain'  never  been  nuttin'  like 
dat  ar  car'ige  in  Varginny  sence  befo'  de  flood." 

"  But  where  is  it,  Big  Abel  ?  " 

"  You  des  wait,  young  Marster,  you  des  wait  twel 
I  git  dar.  I'se  gv:;ne  git  dar  w'en  I  come  ter  de  day 
me  an  Ole  Marster  rid  in  ter  git  his  gol'  f'om  Mars 
Tom  Braxton.  De  car'ige  hit  sutney  did  look  spick 
en  span  dat  day,  en  I  done  shine  up  my  hosses  twel 
you  could  'mos'  see  yo'  face  in  dey  sides.  Well,  we 
rid  inter  town  en  we  got  de  gol'  f'om  Marse  Brax- 
ton, —  all  tied  up  in  a  bag  wid  a  string  roun'  de  neck 
er  it,  —  en  we  start  out  agin  (en  Ole  Miss  she  settin' 
up  at  home  en  plannin'  w'at  she  gwine  buy),  w'en 
we  come  ter  de  tave'n  whar  we  all  use  ter  git  our 
supper,  en  meet  Marse  Plaintain  Dudley  right  face 
to  face.  Lawd!  Lawd!  I'se  done  knowed  Marse 
Plaintain  Dudley  afo'  den,  so  I  des  tech  up  my  hosses 
en  wuz  a-sailin'  'long  by,  w'en  he  shake  his  han'  en 
holler  out,  '  Is  yer  wife  done  tied  you  ter  'er  ap'on, 


The  Coming  of  the  Boy  43 

Maje?'  (He  knowed  Ole  Miss  don'  w'ar  no  ap'on 
des  es  well  es  I  knowed  hit  —  dat's  Marse  Plain- 
tain  all  over  agin) ;  but  w'en  he  holler  out  dat,  Ole 
Marster  sez,  '  Stop,  Abel/  en  I  'bleeged  ter  stop, 
you  know,  I  wuz  w'en  Ole  Marster  tell  me  ter. 

"  '  I  ain'  tied,  Plaintain,  I'm  tired,'  sez  Ole  Mars- 
ter, '  I'm  tired  losin'  money.'  Den  Marse  Plaintain 
he  laugh  like  a  devil.  '  Oh,  come  in,  suh,  come  in 
en  win,  den,'  he  sez,  en  Ole  Marster  step  out  en 
walk  right  in  wid  Marse  Plaintain  behint  'im  —  en 
I  set  dar  all  night,  —  yes,  suh,  I  set  dar  all  night 
a-hol'n'  de  hosses'  haids. 

"  Den  w'en  de  sun  up  out  come  Ole  Marster, 
white  es  a  sheet,  with  his  han's  a-trem'lin',  en  de  bag 
er  gol'  gone.  I  look  at  'im  fur  a  minute,  en  den  I 
let  right  out,  '  Ole  Marster,  whar  de  gol  ? '  en  he 
stan'  still  en  ketch  his  breff  befo'  he  say,  '  Hit's  all 
gone,  Abel,  en  de  car'ige  en  de  hosses  dey's  gone, 
too.1'  En  w'en  I  bust  out  cryin'  en  ax  'im,  '  My 
hosses  gone,  Ole  Marster  ? '  he  kinder  sob  en  beckon 
me  fer  ter  git  down  f'om  my  box,  en  den  we  put  out 
ter  walk  all  de  way  home. 

"  W'en  we  git  yer  'bout'n  dinner  time,  dar  wuz 
Ok  Miss  at  de  do'  wid  de  sun  in  her  eyes,  en  soon 
es  she  ketch  sight  er  Ole  Marster,  she  put  up  her 
han'  en  holler  out,  '  Marse  Lightfoot,  whar  de 
car'ige  ? '  But  Ole  Marster,  he  des  hang  down  his 
haid,  same  es  a  dawg  dat's  done  been  whupped  fur 
rabbit  runnin',  en  he  sob,  '  Hit's  gone,  Molly  en  de 
bag  er  gol'  en  de  hosses,  dey's  gone,  too,  I  done  loss 
'em  all  cep'n  Abel  —  en  I'm  a  bad  man,  Molly.' 
Dat's  w'at  Ole  Marster  say,  '  I'm  a  bad  man,  Molly,' 
en  I  stiddy  'bout  my  hosses  en  Ole  Miss'  car'ige  en 
shet  my  mouf  right  tight." 


44  The  Battle-Ground 

"  And  Grandma  ?  Did  she  cry  ?  "  asked  the  boy, 
breathlessly. 

"Who  cry?  Ole  Miss?  Huh!  She  des  th'ow 
Up  her  haid  en  low,  '  Well,  Marse  Lightfoot,  I'm 
glad  you  kep'  Abel  —  en  we'll  use  de  ole  coach 
ftgin','  sez  she  —  en  den  she  tu'n  en  strut  right  in 
ter  dinner." 

"  Was  that  all  she  ever  said  about  it,  Big  Abel  ?  " 

"  Dat's  all  I  ever  hyern,  honey,  en  I  b'lieve  hit's 
all  Ole  Marster  ever  hyern  eeder,  case  w'en  I  tuck 
his  gun  out  er  de  rack  de  nex'  day,  he  was  settin' 
up  des  es  prim  in  de  parlour  a-sippin'  a  julep  wid 
Marse  Peyton  Ambler,  en  I  hyern  'im  kinder  whis- 
per, '  Molly,  she's  en  angel,  Peyton  — '  en  he  am' 
never  call  Ole  Miss  en  angel  twel  he  loss  'er  car'ige." 


IV 

A  HOUSE   WITH   AN   OPEN   DOOR 

The  master  of  Uplands  was  standing  upon  his 
portico  behind  the  Doric  columns,  looking  compla- 
cently over  the  fat  lands  upon  which  his  fathers 
had  sown  and  harvested  for  generations.  Beyond 
the  lane  of  lilacs  and  the  two  silver  poplars  at  the 
gate,  his  eyes  wandered  leisurely  across  the  blue 
green  strip  of  grass-land  to  the  tawny  wheat  field, 
where  the  slaves  were  singing  as  they  swung  their 
cradles.  The  day  was  fine,  and  the  outlying  mead- 
ows seemed  to  reflect  his  gaze  with  a  smile  as  be- 
neficent as  his  own.  He  had  cast  his  bread  upon  the 
soil,  and  it  had  returned  to  him  threefold. 

As  he  stood  there,  a  small,  yet  imposing  figure, 
in  his  white  duck  suit,  holding  his  broad  slouch 
hat  in  his  hand,  he  presented  something  of  the 
genial  aspect  of  the  country  —  as  if  the  light  that 
touched  the  pleasant  hills  and  valleys  was  aglow  in 
his  clear  brown  eyes  and  comely  features.  Even 
the  smooth  white  hand  in  which  he  held  his  hat  and 
riding-whip  had  about  it  a  certain  plump  kindliness 
which  would  best  become  a  careless  gesture  of  con- 
cession. And,  after  all,  he  looked  but  what  he  was 
—  a  bland  and  generous  gentleman,  whose  heart 
was  as  open  as  his  wine  cellar. 

45 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 3 


46  The  Battle-Ground 

A  catbird  was  singing  in  one  of  the  silver  pop* 
lars,  and  he  waited,  with  upraised  head,  for  th« 
song  to  end.  Then  he  stooped  beside  a  column  and 
carefully  examined  a  newly  planted  coral  honey- 
suckle before  he  went  into  the  wide  hall,  where 
his  wife  was  seated  at  her  work-table. 

From  the  rear  door,  which  stood  open  until  frost, 
a  glow  of  sunshine  entered,  brightening  the  white 
walls  with  their  rows  of  antlers  and  gunracks,  and 
rippling  over  the  well-waxed  floor  upon  which  no 
drop  of  water  had  ever  fallen.  A  faint  sweetness 
was  in  the  air  from  the  honeysuckle  arbour  out- 
side, which  led  into  the  box-bordered  walks  of  the 
garden. 

As  the  Governor  hung  up  his  hat,  he  began  at 
once  with  his  daily  news  of  the  farm.  "  I  hope 
they'll  get  that  wheat  field  done  to-day,"  he  said; 
"  but  it  doesn't  look  much  like  it  —  they've  been 
dawdling  over  it  for  the  last  three  days.  I  am 
afraid  Wilson  isn't  much  of  a  manager,  after  all; 
if  I  take  my  eyes  off  him,  he  seems  to  lose  his 
head." 

"  I  think  everything  is  that  way,"  returned  his 
wife,  looking  up  from  one  of  the  elaborately  tucked 
and  hemstitched  shirt  fronts  which  served  to  gratify 
the  Governor's  single  vanity.  "  I'm  sure  Aunt 
Pussy  says  she  can't  trust  Judy  for  three  days  in 
the  dairy  without  finding  that  the  cream  has  stood 
too  long  for  butter  —  and  Judy  has  been  churning 
for  twenty  years."  She  cut  off  her  thread  and  held 
the  linen  out  for  the  Governor's  inspection.  "  I 
really  believe  that  is  the  prettiest  one  I've  made. 
How  do  you  like  this  new  stitch  ?  " 


A  House  with  an  Open  Door         47 

"  Exquisite !  "  exclaimed  her  husband,  as  he  took 
the  shirt  front  in  his  hand.  "  Simply  exquisite,  my 
love.  There  isn't  a  woman  in  Virginia  who  can  do 
such  needlework ;  but  it  should  go  upon  a  younger 
and  handsomer  man,  Julia." 

His  wife  blushed  and  looked  up  at  him,  the  colour 
rising  to  her  beautiful  brow  and  giving  a 
youthful  radiance  to  her  nunlike  face.  "  It  could 
certainly  go  upon  a  younger  man,  Mr.  Ambler,"  she 
rejoined,  with  a  touch  of  the  coquetry  for  which  she 
had  once  been  noted ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  know 
where  I'd  find  a  handsomer  one." 

A  pleased  smile  broadened  the  Governor's  face, 
and  he  settled  his  waistcoat  with  an  approving  pat. 
"  Ah,  you're  a  partial  witness,  my  dear,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I've  an  error  to  confess,  so  I  mustn't  forego 
your  favour  —  I  —  I  bought  several  of  Mr.  Willis's 
servants,  my  love." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Ambler !  "  remonstrated  his  wife,  re- 
proach softening  her  voice  until  it  fell  like  a  caress. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Ambler,  you  bought  six  of  Colonel 
Blake's  last  year,  you  know  and  one  of  the  house 
servants  has  been  nursing  them  ever  since.  The 
quarters  are  filled  with  infirm  darkies." 

"  But  I  couldn't  help  it,  Julia,  I  really  couldn't," 
pleaded  the  Governor.  "  You'd  have  done  it  your- 
self, my  dear.  They  were  sold  to  a  dealer  going 
south,  and  one  of  them  wants  to  marry  that  Mandy 
of  yours." 

"  Oh,  if  it's  Mandy's  lover,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Am- 
bler, with  rising  interest,  "  of  course  you  had  to 
buy  him,  and  you  did  right  about  the  others  —  you 
always  do  right."     She  put  out  her  delicate  blue- 


48  The  Battle-Ground 

veined  hand  and  touched  his  arm.  "  I  shall  see 
them  to-day,"  she  added,  "  and  Mandy  may  as  well 
be  making  her  wedding  dress." 

"  What  an  eye  to  things  you  have,"  said  the  Gov- 
ernor, proudly.  "  You  might  have  been  President, 
had  you  been  a  man,  my  dear." 

His  wife  rose  and  took  up  her  work-box  with  a 
laugh  of  protest.  "  I  am  quite  content  with  the 
mission  of  my  sex,  sir,"  she  returned,  half  in  jest, 
half  in  wifely  humility.  "  I'm  sure  I'd  much  rather 
make  shirt  fronts  for  you  than  wear  them  myself." 
Then  she  nodded  to  him  and  went,  with  her  stately 
step,  up  the  broad  staircase,  her  white  hand  flitting 
over  the  mahogany  balustrade. 

As  he  looked  after  her,  the  Governor's  face 
clouded,  and  he  sighed  beneath  his  breath.  The 
cares  she  met  with  such  serenity  had  been  too  heavy 
for  her  strength ;  they  had  driven  the  bloom  from 
her  cheeks  and  the  lustre  from  her  eyes ;  and, 
though  she  had  not  faltered  at  her  task,  she  had 
drooped  daily  and  grown  older  than  her  years.  The 
master  might  live  with  a  lavish  disregard  of  the 
morrow,  not  the  master's  wife.  For  him  were 
the  open  house,  the  shining  table,  the  well-stocked 
wine  cellar  and  the  morning  rides  over  the  dewy 
fields ;  for  her  the  cares  of  her  home  and  children, 
and  of  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  black  people  that 
had  been  given  into  her  hands.  In  her  gentle  heart 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  a  charge  to  keep  be- 
fore her  God ;  and  she  went  her  way  humbly,  her 
thoughts  filled  with  things  so  vital  as  the  uses  of 
her  medicine  chest  and  the  unexpounded  mysteries 
of  salvation. 


A  House  with  an  Open  Door         49 

Now,  as  she  reached  the  upper  landing,  she  met 
Betty  running  to  look  for  her. 

"  O,  mamma,  may  I  go  to  fish  with  Champe 
and  the  new  boy  and  Big  Abel?  And  Virginia 
wants  to  go,  too,  she  says." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler. 
"  You  have  torn  the  trimming  on  your  frock. 
Stand  still  and  I'll  mend  it  for  you,"  and  she  got 
out  her  needle  and  sewed  up  the  rent,  while  Betty 
hopped  impatiently  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  I  think  the  new  boy's  a  heap  nicer  than  Champe, 
mamma,"  she  remarked  as  she  waited. 

"Do  you,  dear?" 

"  An'  he  says  I'm  nicer  than  Champe,  too.  He 
fought  Champe  'cause  he  said  I  didn't  have  as 
much  sense  as  he  had  —  an'  I  have,  haven't  I, 
mamma?  " 

"  Women  do  not  need  as  much  sense  as  men,  my 
dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Ambler,  taking  a  dainty  stitch. 

"  Well,  anyway,  Dan  fought  Champe  about  it," 
said  Betty,  with  pride.  "  He'll  fight  about  'most 
anything,  he  says,  if  he  jest  gets  roused  —  an'  that 
cert'n'y  did  rouse  him.  His  nose  bled  a  long  time, 
too,  and  Champe  whipped  him,  you  know.  But, 
when  it  was  over,  I  asked  him  if  I  had  as  much 
sense  as  he  had,  and  he  said,  '  Psha !  you're  just  a 
girl.'    Wasn't  that  funny,  mamma  ?  " 

"  There,  there,  Betty,"  was  Mrs.  Ambler's  re- 
joinder. "  I'm  afraid  he's  a  wicked  boy,  and  you 
mustn't  get  such  foolish  thoughts  into  your  head. 
If  the  Lord  had  wanted  you  to  be  clever,  He  would 
have  made  you  a  man.  Now,  run  away,  and  don't 
get  your  feet  wet;    and  if  you  see  Aunt  Lydia  in 


$o  The  Battle-Ground 

the  garden,  you  may  tell  her  that  the  bonnet  has 
come  for  her  to  look  at." 

Betty  bounded  away  and  gave  the  message  to 
Aunt  Lydia  over  the  whitewashed  fence  of  the 
garden.  "  They've  sent  a  bonnet  from  New  York 
for  you  to  look  at,  Aunt  Lydia,"  she  cried.  "  It 
came  all  wrapped  up  in  tissue  paper,  with  mamma's 
gray  silk,  and  it's  got  flowers  on  it  —  a  lot  of 
them !  "  with  which  parting  shot,  she  turned  her 
back  upon  the  startled  old  lady  and  dashed  off  to 
join  the  boys  and  Big  Abel,  who,  with  their  fish- 
ing-poles, had  gathered  in  the  cattle  pasture. 

Miss  Lydia,  who  was  lovingly  bending  over  a 
bed  of  thyme,  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  after  the 
child,  all  in  a  gentle  wonder.  Then  she  went  slowly 
up  and  down  the  box-bordered  walks,  the  full  skirt 
of  her  "  old  lady's  gown  "  trailing  stiffly  over  the 
white  gravel,  her  delicate  face  rising  against  the 
blossomless  shrubs  of  snowball  and  bridal-wreath, 
like  a  faintly  tinted  flower  that  had  been  blighted 
before  it  fully  bloomed.  Around  her  the  garden 
was  fragrant  as  a  rose- jar  with  the  lid  left  off,  and 
the  very  paths  beneath  were  red  and  white  with 
fallen  petals.  Hardy  cabbage  roses,  single  pink  and 
white  dailies,  yellow-centred  damask,  and  the  last 
splendours  of  the  giant  of  battle,  all  dipped  their 
colours  to  her  as  she  passed,  while  the  little  rustic 
summer-house  where  the  walks  branched  off  was  but 
a  flowering  bank  of  maiden's  blush  and  micro- 
phylla. 

Amid  them  all,  Miss  Lydia  wandered  in  her  full 
black  gown,  putting  aside  her  filmy  ruffles  as  she 
tied  back  a  hanging  spray  or  pruned  a  broken  stalk, 


A  House  with  an  Open  Door         5r 

sometimes  even  lowering  her  thread  lace  cap  as  she 
weeded  the  tangle  of  sweet  Williams  and  touch- 
me-not.  Since  her  gentle  girlhood  she  had  tended 
bountiful  gardens,  and  dreamed  her  virgin  dreams 
in  the  purity  of  their  box-trimmed  walks.  In  a  kind 
of  worldly  piety  she  had  bound  her  prayer  book 
in  satin  and  offered  to  her  Maker  the  incense  of 
flowers.  She  regarded  heaven  with  something  of 
the  respectful  fervour  with  which  she  regarded  the 
world  —  that  great  world  she  had  never  seen;  for 
"  the  proper  place  for  a  spinster  is  her  father's 
house,"  she  would  say  with  her  conventional  prim- 
ness, and  send,  despite  herself,  a  mild  imagina- 
tion in  pursuit  of  the  follies  from  which  she  so 
earnestly  prayed  to  be  delivered  —  she,  to  whom 
New  York  was  as  the  terror  of  a  modern  Babylon, 
and  a  Jezebel  but  a  woman  with  paint  upon  her 
cheeks.  "  They  tell  me  that  other  women  have 
painted  since,"  she  had  once  said,  with  a  wistful 
curiosity.  "  Your  grandmamma,  my  dear  Julia,  had 
even  seen  one  with  an  artificial  colour.  She  would 
not  have  mentioned  it  to  me,  of  course,  —  an  unmar- 
ried lady,  —  but  I  was  in  the  next  room  when  she 
spoke  of  it  to  old  Mrs.  Fitzhugh.  She  was  a  woman 
of  the  world,  was  your  grandmamma,  my  dear,  and 
the  most  finished  dancer  of  her  day."  The  last  was 
said  with  a  timid  pride,  though  to  Miss  Lydia  her- 
self the  dance  was  the  devil's  own  device,  and  the 
teaching  of  the  catechism  to  small  black  slaves  the 
chief  end  of  existence.  But  the  blood  of  the  "  most 
finished  dancer  of  her  day  "  still  circulated  beneath 
the  old  lady's  gown  and  the  religious  fife,  and  in 
her  attenuated  romances  she  forever  held  the  sinnef 


52  The  Battle-Ground 

above  the  saint,  unless,  indeed,  the  sinner  chanced 
to  be  of  her  own  sex,  when,  probably,  the  book 
would  never  have  reached  her  hands.  For  the 
purely  masculine  improprieties,  her  charity  was  as 
boundless  as  her  innocence.  She  had  even  dipped 
into  Shakespeare  and  brought  away  the  memory  of 
Mercutio ;  she  had  read  Scott,  and  enshrined  in  her 
pious  heart  the  bold  Rob  Roy.  "  Men  are  very 
wicked,  I  fear,"  she  would  gently  offer,  "  but  they 
are  very  a  —  a  —  engaging,  too." 

To-day,  when  Betty  came  with  the  message,  she 
/  lingered  a  moment  to  convince  herself  that  the  bon- 
net was  not  in  her  thoughts,  and  then  swept  her 
trailing  bombazine  int^  the  house.  "  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  that  you  may  as  well  send  the  bonnet 
back,  Julia,"  she  began  at  once.  "  Flowers  are 
much  too  fine  for  me,  my  dear.  I  need  only  a  plain 
black  poke." 

"  Come  up  and  try  it  on,"  was  Mrs.  Ambler's 
cheerful  response.  "  You  have  no  idea  how  lovely 
it  will  look  on  you." 

Miss  Lydia  went  up  and  took  the  bonnet  out  of 
its  wrapping  of  tissue  paper.  "  No,  you  must  send 
it  back,  my  love,"  she  said  in  a  resigned  voice.  "  It 
does  not  become  me  to  dress  as  a  married  woman. 
It  may  as  well  go  back,  Julia." 

"  But  do  look  in  the  glass,  Aunt  Lydia  —  there, 
let  me  put  it  straight  for  you.  Why,  it  suits  you 
perfectly.  It  makes  you  look  at  least  ten  years 
younger." 

"  A  plain  black  poke,  my  dear,"  insisted  Aunt 
Lydia,  as  she  carefully  swathed  the  flowers  in  the 
tissue  paper.     "  And,  besides,  I  have  my  old  one, 


A  House  with  an  Open  Door         53 

which  is  quite  good  enough  for  me,  my  love.  It 
was  very  sweet  of  you  to  think  of  it,  but  it  may 
as  well  go  back."  She  pensively  gazed  at  the 
mirror  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  to  her  cham- 
ber and  took  out  her  Bible  to  read  Saint  Paul  on 
Woman. 

When  she  came  down  a  few  hours  later,  her 
face  wore  an  angelic  meekness.  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  that  poor  Mrs.  Brown  who  was  here  last 
week,"  she  said  softly,  "  and  I  remember  her  tell- 
ing me  that  she  had  no  bonnet  to  wear  to  church. 
What  a  loss  it  must  be  to  her  not  to  attend  divine 
service." 

Mrs.  Ambler  quickly  looked  up  from  her  needle- 
work. "  Why,  Aunt  Lydia,  it  would  be  really  a 
charity  to  give  her  your  old  one !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  does  seem  a  shame  that  she  should  be  kept 
away  from  church  because  of  a  bonnet.  And,  then, 
you  might  as  well  keep  the  new  one,  you  know, 
since  it  is  in  the  house ;  I  hate  the  trouble  of  send- 
ing it  back." 

"  It  would  be  a  charity,"  murmured  Miss 
Lydia,  and  the  bonnet  was  brought  down  and  tried 
on  again.  They  were  still  looking  at  it  when  Betty 
rushed  in  and  threw  herself  upon  her  mother.  "  O, 
mamma,  I  can't  help  it ! "  she  cried  in  tears,  "  an* 
I  wish  I  hadn't  done  it!  Oh,  I  wish  I  hadn't; 
but  I  set  fire  to  the  Major's  woodpile,  and  he's 
whippin'  Dan !  " 

"  Betty !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ambler.  She  took  the 
child  by  her  shoulders  and  drew  her  toward  her. 
"  Betty,  did  you  set  fire  to  the  Major's  woodpile?" 
she  questioned  sternly. 


54  The  Battle-Ground 

Betty  was  sobbing  aloud,  but  she  stopped  long 
enough  to  gasp  out  an  answer. 

"  We  were  playin'  Injuns,  mamma,  an'  we 
couldn't  make  believe  'twas  real,"  she  said,  "  an'  it 
isn't  any  fun  unless  you  can  make  believe,  so  I 
lit  the  woodpile  and  pretended  it  was  a  fort,  an' 
Big  Abel,  he  was  an  Injun  with  the  axe  for  a  toma- 
hawk; but  the  woodpile  blazed  right  up,  an'  the 
Major  came  runnin'  out.  He  asked  Dan  who  did  it, 
an'  Dan  wouldn't  say  'twas  me,  —  an'  I  wouldn't  say, 
either,  —  so  he  took  Dan  in  to  whip  him.  Oh,  I  wish 
I'd  told!    I  wish  I'd  told!" 

"  Hush,  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  and  she  called 
to  the  Governor  in  the  hall,  "  Mr.  Ambler,  Betty 
has  set  fire  to  the  Major's  woodpile ! "  Her  voice 
was  hopeless,  and  she  looked  up  blankly  at  her 
husband  as  he  entered. 

"  Set  fire  to  the  woodpile ! "  whistled  the  Gover- 
nor. "  Why,  bless  my  soul,  we  aren't  safe  in  our 
beds!" 

"  He  whipped  Dan,"  wailed  Betty. 

"  We  aren't  safe  in  our  beds,"  repeated  the  Gov- 
ernor, indignantly.  "  Julia,  this  is  really  too 
much." 

"  Well,  you  will  have  to  ride  right  over  there," 
said  his  wife,  decisively.  "  Petunia,  run  down  and 
tell  Hosea  to  saddle  his  master's  horse.  Betty,  I 
hope  this  will  be  a  lesson  to  you.  You  shan't  have 
any  preserves  for  supper  for  a  week." 

"  I  don't  want  any  preserves,"  sobbed  Betty,  her 
apron  to  her  eyes. 

"  Then  you  mustn't  go  fishing  for  two  weeks. 
Mr.  Ambler,  you'd  better  be  starting  at  once,  and 


A  House  with  an  Open  Door         55 

don't  forget  to  tell  the  Major  that  Betty  is  in  great 
distress  —  you  are,  aren't  you,  Betty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  wept  Betty. 

The  Governor  went  out  into  the  hall  and  took 
down  his  hat  and  riding-whip. 

"  The  sins  of  the  children  are  visited  upon  the 
fathers,"  he  remarked  gloomily  as  he  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away  from  his  supper. 


THE   SCHOOL   FOR  GENTLEMEN 

The  Governor  rode  up  too  late  to  avert  the  pun- 
ishment. Dan  had  taken  his  whipping  and  was  sit- 
ting on  a  footstool  in  the  library,  facing  the  Major 
and  a  couple  of  the  Major's  cronies.  His  face 
wore  an  expression  in  which  there  was  more  resent- 
ment than  resignation;  for,  though  he  took  blows 
doggedly,  he  bore  the  memory  of  them  long  after 
the  smart  had  ceased  —  long,  indeed,  after  light- 
handed  justice,  in  the  Major's  person,  had  forgotten 
alike  the  sin  and  the  expiation.  For  the  Major's 
hand  was  not  steady  at  the  rod,  and  he  had  often 
regretted  a  weakness  of  heart  which  interfered  with 
a  physical  interpretation  of  the  wisdom  of  Solomon. 
"If  you  get  yOur  deserts,  you'd  get  fifty  lashes," 
was  his  habitual  reproof  to  his  servants,  though,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  never  been  known  to  order 
one.  His  anger  was  sometimes  of  the  kind  that  ap- 
palls, but  it  usually  vented  itself  in  a  heightened 
redness  of  face  or  a  single  thundering  oath;  and 
a  woman's  sob  would  melt  his  stoniest  mood.  It 
was  only  because  his  daughter  had  kept  out  of 
his  sight  that  he  had  never  forgiven  her,  people 
said;  but  there  was,  perhaps,  something  character- 
istic in  the  proof  that  he  was  most  relentless  where 
he  had  most  loved. 

56 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  57 

As  for  Dan's  chastisement,  he  had  struck  him 
twice  across  the  shoulders,  and  when  the  boy  had 
turned  to  him  with  the  bitter  smile  which  was  Jane 
Lightfoot's  own,  the  Major  had  choked  in  his  wrath, 
and,  a  moment  later,  flung  the  whip  aside.  "  I'll 
be  damned,  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  —  I'll  be 
ashamed  of  myself  if  I  give  you  another  lick,"  he 
said.    "  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  shall  trust  you." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  he  had  not  counted  on 
the  Mont  joy  blood.  The  boy  looked  at  him  and 
stubbornly  shook  his  head.  "  I  can't  shake  hands 
yet  because  I  am  hating  you  just  now,"  he  an-^ 
swered.  "Will  you  wait  awhile,  sir?"  and  thg 
Major  choked  again,  half  in  awe,  half  in  amuse- 
ment. 

"  You  don't  bear  malice,  I  reckon  ?  "  he  ventured 
cautiously. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  replied  the  boy,  "  I  rather  think 
I  do." 

Then  he  put  on  his  coat,  and  they  went  out  to 
meet  Mr.  Blake  and  Dr.  Crump,  two  hale  and  jolly 
gentlemen  who  rode  over  every  Thursday  to  spend 
the  night. 

As  the  visitors  came  panting  up  the  steps,  the 
Major  stood  in  the  doorway  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  You  are  late,  gentlemen,  you  are  late,"  was  his 
weekly  greeting,  to  which  they  as  regularly  re- 
sponded, "  We  could  never  come  too  early  for  our 
pleasure,  my  dear  Major;  but  there  are  professional 
duties,  you  know,  professional  duties." 

After  this  interchange  of  courtesies,  they  would 
enter  the  house  and  settle  themselves,  winter  or 
summer,  in  their  favourite  chairs  u#on  the  hearth- 


58  The  Battle-Ground 

rug,  when  it  was  the  custom  of  Mrs.  Lightfoot  to 
send  in  a  fluttering  maid  to  ask  if  Mrs*  Blake  had 
done  her  the  honour  to  accompany  her  husband.  As 
Mrs.  Blake  was  never  known  to  leave  her  children 
and  her  pet  poultry,  this  was  merely  a  conventional- 
ism by  which  the  elder  lady  meant  to  imply  a  stand- 
ing welcome  for  the  younger. 

On  this  evening,  Mr.  Blake  —  the  rector  of  the 
largest  church  in  Leicesterburg  —  straightened  his 
fat  legs  and  folded  his  hands  as  he  did  at  the  ending 
of  his  sermons,  and  the  others  sat  before  him  with 
the  strained  and  reverential  faces  which  they  put 
on  like  a  veil  in  church  and  took  off  when  the  ser- 
vice was  over.  That  it  was  not  a  prayer,  but  a 
pleasantry  of  which  he  was  about  to  deliver  him- 
self, they  quite  understood ;  but  he  had  a  habit  of 
speaking  'on  week  days  in  his  Sunday  tones,  which 
gave,  as  it  were,  an  official  weight  to  his  remarks. 
He  was  a  fleshy  wide-girthed  gentleman,  with  a 
bald  head,  and  a  face  as  radiant  as  the  full  moon. 

"  I  was  just  asking  the  doctor  when  I  was  to  have 
the  honour  of  making  the  little  widow  Mrs. 
Crump  ?  "  he  threw  out  at  last,  with  a  laugh  that 
shook  him  from  head  to  foot.  "  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  live  alone,  eh,  Major?  " 

"  That  sentence  is  sufficient  to  prove  the  divine 
inspiration  of  the  Scriptures,"  returned  the  Major, 
warmly,  while  the  doctor  blushed  and  stammered, 
as  he  always  did,  at  the  rector's  mild  matrimoniaV 
jokes.  It  was  twenty  years  since  Mr.  Blake  began 
teasing  Dr.  Crump  about  his  bachelorship,  and  to 
them  both  the  subject  was  as  fresh  as  in  its  be- 
ginning. 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  59 

"I  —  I  declare  I  haven't  seen  the  lady  for  a 
week,"  protested  the  doctor,  "  and  then  she  sent  for 
me." 

"Sent  for  you?"  roared  Mr.  Blake.  "Ah, 
doctor,  doctor !  " 

"  She  sent  for  me  because  she  had  heart  trouble," 
returned  the  doctor,  indignantly.  The  lady's  name 
was  never  mentioned  between  them. 

The  rector  laughed  until  the  tears  started. 

"  Ah,  you're  a  success  with  the  ladies,"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  drew  out  a  neatly  ironed  handker- 
chief and  shook  it  free  from  its  folds,  "  and  no  won- 
der—  no  wonder!  We'll  be  having  an  epidemic 
of  heart  trouble  next."  Then,  as  he  saw  the  doctor 
wince  beneath  his  jest,  his  kindly  heart  reproached 
him,  and  he  gravely  turned  to  politics  and  the  dig- 
nity of  nations. 

The  two  friends  were  faithful  Democrats, 
though  the  rector  always  began  his  very  forcible  re- 
marks with :  "  A  minister  knows  nothing  of  politics, 
and  I  am  but  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  If  you  care, 
however,  for  the  opinion  of  an  outsider  —  " 

As  for  the  Major,  he  had  other  leanings  which 
were  a  source  of  unending  interest  to  them  all.  "  I 
am  a  Whig,  not  from  principle,  but  from  prejudice, 
sir,"  he  declared.  "  The  Whig  is  the  gentle- 
man's party.  I  never  saw  a  Whig  that  didn't  wear 
broadcloth." 

"  And  some  Democrats,"  politely  protested  the 
doctor,  with  a  glance  at  his  coat. 

The  Major  bowed. 

"  And  many  Democrats,  sir ;  but  the  Whig  party, 
if  I  may  say  so,  is  the  broadcloth  party  —  the  cloth 


60  The  Battle-Ground 

stamps  it ;  and  besides  this,  sir,  I  think  its  '  parts 
are  solid  and  will  wear  well.'  " 

Now  when  the  Major  began  to  quote  Mr.  Addi- 
son, even  the  rector  was  silent,  save  for  an  occa- 
sional prompting-,  as,  "  I  was  reading  the  Spectator 
until  eleven  last  night,  sir,"  or  "  I  have  been  trying 
to  recall  the  lines  in  The  Campaign  before  '  'Twas 
then  great  Marlborough's  mighty  soul  was  proved." 

This  was  the  best  of  the  day  to  Dan,  and,  as  he 
turned  on  his  footstool,  he  did  not  even  glare  at 
Champe,  who,  from  the  window  seat,  was  regard- 
ing him  with  the  triumphant  eye  with  which  the 
young  behold  the  downfall  of  a  brother.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  had  forgotten  the  whipping,  but  Champe 
had  not ;   he  was  thinking  of  it  in  the  window  seat. 

But  the  Major  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug, 
and  the  boy's  gaze  went  to  him.  Tossing  back  his 
long  white  hair,  and  fixing  his  eagle  glance  on  his 
friends,  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  free  sweep  of 
his  arm,  thundered  his  favourite  lines  :  — 

"  So,  when  an  angel  by  divine  command 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land 
(Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed), 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

He  had  got  so  far  when  the  door  opened  and  the 
Governor  entered  —  a  little  hurriedly,  for  he  was 
thinking  of  his  supper. 

"  I  am  the  bearer  of  an  apology,  my  dear  Major," 
he  said,  when  he  had  heartily  shaken  hands  all  round. 
"  It  seems  that  Betty  —  I  assure  you  she  is  in  great 
distress  —  set  fire  to  your  woodpile  this  afternoon, 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  61 

and  that  your  grandson  was  punished  for  her  mis- 
chief. My  dear  boy,"  he  laid  his  hand  on  Dan's 
shoulder  and  looked  into  his  face  with  the  win- 
ning smile  which  had  made  him  the  most  popular 
man  in  his  State,  "  my  dear  boy,  you  are  young  to 
be  such  a  gentleman." 

A  hot  flush  overspread  Dan's  face;  he  forgot 
the  smart  and  the  wounded  pride  —  he  forgot  even 
Champe  staring  from  the  window  seat.  The  Gov- 
ernor's voice  was  like  salve  to  his  hurt;  the  up- 
right little  man  with  the  warm  brown  eyes  seemed 
to  lift  him  at  once  to  the  plane  of  his  own  chivalry. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  tell  on  a  girl,  sir,"  he  answered, 
and  then  his  smothered  injury  burst  forth ;  "  but 
she  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself,"  he  added 
bluntly. 

"  She  is,"  said  the  Governor  with  a  smile ;  then 
he  turned  to  the  others.  "  Major,  the  boy  is  a 
Lightfoot !  "    he   exclaimed. 

"  Ah,  so  I  said,  so  I  said !  "  cried  the  Major, 
clapping  his  hand  on  Dan's  head  in  a  racial  bene- 
diction. " '  I'd  know  you  were  a  Lightfoot  if  I 
met  you  in  the  road '  was  what  I  said  the  first 
evening." 

"  And  a  Virginian,"  added  Mr.  Blake,  folding 
his  hands  on  his  stomach  and  smiling  upon  the 
group.  "  My  daughter  in  New  York  wrote  to  me 
last  week  for  advice  about  the  education  of  her 
son.  '  Shall  I  send  him  to  the  school  of  learning 
at  Cambridge,  papa  ? '  she  asked ;  and  I  answered, 
'  Send  him  there,  if  you  will,  but,  when  he  has  fin- 
ished with  his  books,  by  all  means  let  him  come  to 
Virginia  —  the  school  for  gentlemen.'  " 


62  The  Battle-Ground 

"  The  school  for  gentlemen !  "  cried  the  doctor, 
delightedly.  "  It  is  a  prouder  title  than  the  '  Mother 
of  Presidents.' " 

"  And  as  honourably  earned,"  added  the  rector. 
"  If  you  want  polish,  come  to  Virginia ;  if  you 
want  chivalry,  come  to  Virginia.  When  I  see  these 
two  things  combined,  I  say  to  myself,  '  The  blood 
of  the  Mother  of  Presidents  is  here.'  " 

"  You  are  right,  sir,  you  are  right !  "  cried  the 
Major,  shaking  back  his  hair,  as  he  did  when  he 
was  about  to  begin  the  lines  from  The  Campaign. 
"  Nothing  gives  so  fine  a  finish  to  a  man  as  a  few 
years  spent  with  the  influences  that  moulded  Wash- 
ington. Why,  some  foreigners  are  perfected  by 
them,  sir.  When  I  met  General  Lafayette  in  Rich- 
mond upon  his  second  visit,  I  remember  being 
agreeably  impressed  with  his  dignity  and  ease, 
which,  I  have  no  doubt,  sir,  he  acquired  by  his  asso- 
ciation, in  early  years,  with  the  Virginia  gentlemen." 

The  Governor  looked  at  them  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  He  was  aware  of  the  humorous  traits  of 
his  friends,  but,  in  the  peculiar  sweetness  of  his 
temper,  he  loved  them  not  the  less  because  he 
laughed  at  them —  perhaps  the  more.  In  the  rec- 
tor's fat  body  and  the  Major's  lean  one,  he  knew 
that  there  beat  hearts  as  chivalrous  as  their  words. 
He  had  seen  the  Major  doff  his  hat  to  a  beggar  in 
the  road,  and  the  rector  ride  forty  miles  in  a  snow- 
storm to  read  a  prayer  at  the  burial  of  a  slave.  So 
he  said  with  a  pleasant  laugh,  "  We  are  surely  the 
best  judges,  my  dear  sirs,"  and  then,  as  Mrs.  Light- 
foot  rustled  in,  they  rose  and  fell  back  until  she  had 
taken  her  seat,  and  found  her  knitting. 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  6j 

"  I  am  so  sorry  not  to  see  Mrs.  Blake,"  she  said 
to  the  rector.  "  I  have  a  new  recipe  for  yellow 
pickle  which  I  must  write  out  and  send  to  her." 
And,  as  the  Governor  rose  to  go,  she  stood  up  and 
begged  him  to  stay  to  supper.  "  Mr.  Lightfoot, 
can't  you  persuade  him  to  sit  down  with  us  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Where  you  have  failed,  Molly,  it  is  useless  for 
me  to  try,"  gallantly  responded  the  Major,  picking 
up  her  ball  of  yarn. 

"  But  I  must  bear  your  pardon  to  my  little  girl, 
I  really  must,"  insisted  the  Governor.  "  By  the 
way,  Major,"  he  added,  turning  at  the  door,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  the  scheme  to  let  the  Government 
buy  the  slaves  and  ship  them  back  to  Africa?  I 
was  talking  to  a  Congressman  about  it  last  week." 

"  Sell  the  servants  to  the  Government !  "  cried  the 
Major,  hotly.  "  Nonsense !  nonsense !  Why,  you 
are  striking  at  the  very  foundation  of  our  society! 
Without  slavery,  where  is  our  aristocracy,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Governor 
lightly.  "  Well,  we  shall  keep  them  a  while  longer, 
I  expect.  Good  night,  madam,  good  night,  gentle- 
men," and  he  went  out  to  where  his  horse  was 
standing. 

The  Major  looked  after  him  with  a  sigh.  "  When 
I  hear  a  man  talking  about  the  abolition  of  slavery," 
he  remarked  gloomily,  "  I  always  expect  him  to  want 
to  do  away  with  marriage  next  —  "  he  checked  him- 
self and  coloured,  as  if  an  improper  speech  had 
slipped  out  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Lightfoot.  The 
old  lady  rose  primly  and,  taking  the  rector's  arm,  led 
the  way  to  supper. 


64  The  Battle-Ground 

Dan  was  not  noticed  at  the  table,  —  it  was  a  part 
of  his  grandmother's  social  training  to  ignore 
children  before  visitors, — but  when  he  went  upstairs 
that  night,  the  Major  came  to  the  boy's  room  and 
took  him  in  his  arms. 

"  I  am  proud  of  you,  my  child,"  he  said.  "  You 
are  my  grandson,  every  inch  of  you,  and  you  shall 
have  the  finest  riding  horse  in  the  stables  on  your 
birthday." 

"  I'd  rather  have  Big  Abel,  if  you  please,  sir," 
returned  Dan.  "  I  think  Big  Abel  would  like  to 
belong  to  me,  grandpa." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  cried  the  Major.  "  Why,  you 
shall  have  Big  Abel  and  his  whole  family,  if  you 
like.  I'll  give  you  every  darky  on  the  place,  if 
you  want  them  —  and  the  horses  to  boot,"  for  the  old 
gentleman  was  as  unwise  in  his  generosity  as  in  his 
wrath. 

"  Big  Abel  will  do,  thank  you,"  responded  the 
boy ;  "  and  I'd  like  to  shake  hands  now,  grandpa," 
he  added  gravely;  but  before  the  Major  left  that 
night  he  had  won  not  only  the  child's  hand,  but  his 
heart.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  great  love  be- 
tween them. 

For  from  that  day  Dan  was  as  the  light  of  his 
grandfather's  eyes.  As  the  boy  strode  manfully 
across  the  farm,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  the  old  man  followed,  in  won- 
dering pride,  on  his  footsteps.  To  see  him  stand 
amid  the  swinging  cradles  in  the  wheat  field,  order- 
ing the  slaves  and  arguing  with  the  overseer,  was 
sufficient  delight  unto  the  Major's  day.  "  Nonsense, 
Molly,"  he  would  reply  half  angrily  to  his  wife's  re- 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  6$ 

monstrances.  "  The  child  can't  be  spoiled.  I  tell 
you  he's  too  fine  a  boy.  I  couldn't  spoil  him  if 
I  tried,"  and  once  out  of  his  grandmother's 
sight,  Dan's  arrogance  was  laughed  at,  and  his  reck- 
lessness was  worshipped.  "  Ah,  you  will  make  a 
man,  you  will  make  a  man!"  the  Major  had  ex- 
claimed when  he  found  him  swearing  at  the  over- 
seer, "  but  you  mustn't  curse,  you  really  mustn't,  you 
know.    Why,  your  grandmother  won't  let  me  do  it." 

"  But  I  told  him  to  leave  that  haystack  for  me 
to  slide  on,"  complained  the  boy,  "  and  he  said  he 
wouldn't,  and  began  to  pull  it  down.  I  wish  you'd 
send  him  away,  grandpa." 

"Send  Harris  away!"  whistled  the  Major. 
"  Why,  where  could  I  get  another,  Dan  ?  He  has 
been  with  me  for  twenty  years." 

"  Hi,  young  Marster,  who  gwine  min'  de  han's  ?  " 
cried  Big  Abel,  from  behind. 

"  Do  you  like  him,  Big  Abel  ?  "  asked  the  child, 
for  the  opinion  of  Big  Abel  was  the  only  one  for 
which  he  ever  showed  respect.  "  It's  because  he's 
not  free,  grandpa,"  he  had  once  explained  at  the 
Major's  jealous  questioning.  "  I  wouldn't  hurt  his 
feelings  because  he's  not  free,  you  know,  and  he 
couldn't  answer  back,"  and  the  Major  had  said 
nothing  more. 

Now  "  Do  you  like  him,  Big  Abel  ?  "  he  inquired ; 
and  to  the  negro's  "  He's  done  use  me  moughty 
well,  suh,"  he  said  gravely,  "  Then  he  shall  stay, 
grandpa  —  and  I'm  sorry  I  cursed  you,  Harris,"  he 
added  before  he  left  the  field.  He  would  always 
own  that  he  was  wrong,  if  he  could  once  be  made  to 
see  it,  which  rarely  happened. 


66  The  Battle-Ground 

"  The  boy's  kind  heart  will  save  him,  or  he  is 
lost,"  said  the  Governor,  sadly,  as  Dan  tore  by  on 
his  little  pony,  his  black  hair  blown  from  his  face, 
his  gray  eyes  shining. 

"  He  has  a  kind  heart,  I  know,"  returned  Mrs. 
Ambler,  gently ;  "  the  servants  and  the  animals 
adore  him  —  but  —  but  do  you  think  it  well  for 
Betty  to  be  thrown  so  much  with  him  ?  He  is  very 
wild,  and  they  deny  him  nothing.  I  wish  she  went 
with  Champe  instead  —  but  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the 
Governor,  uneasily.  "  He  told  the  doctor  to  mind 
his  own  business,  yesterday  —  and  that  is  not  unlike 
Betty,  herself,  I  am  sorry  to  say  —  but  this  morn- 
ing I  saw  him  give  his  month's  pocket  money  to  that 
poor  free  negro,  Levi.  I  can't  say,  I  really  do 
not  know,"  his  eyes  followed  Betty  as  she  flew 
out  to  climb  behind  Dan  on  the  pony's  back.  "  I 
wish  it  were  Champe,  myself,"  he  added  doubt- 
fully. 

For  Betty  —  independent  'Betty  —  had  become 
Dan's  slave.  Ever  since  the  afternoon  of  the  burn- 
ing woodpile,  she  had  bent  her  stubborn  little  knees 
to  him  in  hero-worship.  She  followed  closer  than  a 
shadow  on  his  footsteps;  no  tortures  could  wring 
his  secrets  from  her  lips.  Once,  when  he  hid  him- 
self in  the  mountains  for  a  day  and  night  and  played 
Indian,  she  kept  silence,  though  she  knew  his  hid- 
ing-place, and  a  search  party  was  out  with  lanterns 
until  dawn. 

"  I  didn't  tell,"  she  said  triumphantly,  when  fie 
came  down  again. 

"  No,  you  didn't  tell,"  he  frankly  acknowledged. 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  67 

"  So  I  can  keep  a  secret,"  she  declared  at  last. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can  keep  a  secret  —  for  a  girl," 
he  returned,  and  added,  "  I  tell  you  what,  I  like  you 
better  than  anybody  about  here,  except  grandpa  and 
Big  Abel." 

She  shone  upon  him,  her  eyes  narrowing;  then 
her  face  darkened.  "  Not  better  than  Big  Abel?" 
she  questioned  plaintively. 

"  Why,  I  have  to  like  Big  Abel  best,"  he  replied, 
"  because  he  belongs  to  me,  you  know  —  you  ought 
to  love  the  thing  that  belongs  to  you." 

"  But  I  might  belong  to  you,"  suggested  Betty. 
She  smiled  again,  and,  smiling  or  grave,  she  always 
looked  as  if  she  were  standing  in  a  patch  of  sun- 
shine, her  hair  made  such  a  brightness  about  her. 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't,  you're  white,"  said  Dan ; 
"  and,  besides,  I  reckon  Big  Abel  and  the  pony  are 
as  much  as  I  can  manage.  It's  a  dreadful  weight, 
having  people  belong  to  you." 

Then  he  loaded  his  gun,  and  Betty  ran  away  with 
her  fingers  in  her  ears,  because  she  couldn't  bear 
to  have  things  killed. 

A  month  later  Dan  and  Champe  settled  down  to 
study.  The  new  tutor  came  —  a  serious  young  man 
from  the  North,  who  wore  spectacles,  and  read  the 
Bible  to  the  slaves  on  the  half-holidays.  He  was 
kindly  and  conscientious,  and,  though  the  boys 
found  him  unduly  weighed  down  by  responsibility 
for  the  souls  of  his  fellows,  they  soon  loved  him  in 
a  light-hearted  fashion.  In  a  society  where  even 
the  rector  harvested  alike  the  true  grain  and  the 
tares,  and  left  the  Almighty  to  do  His  own  win- 
nowing, Mr.  Bennett's  free-handed  fight  with  the 


68  The  Battle-Ground 

flesh  and  the  devil  was  looked  upon  with  smiling 
tolerance,  as  if  he  were  charging  a  windmill  with 
a  wooden  sword. 

On  Saturdays  he  would  ride  over  to  Uplands, 
and  discuss  his  schemes  for  the  uplifting  of  the 
negroes  with  the  Governor  and  Mrs.  Ambler;  and 
once  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  knock  at  Rainy-day 
Jones's  door  and  hand  him  a  pamphlet  entitled  "  The 
Duties  of  the  Slaveholder."  Old  Rainy-day,  who 
was  the  biggest  bully  in  the  county,  set  the  dogs  on 
him,  and  lit  his  pipe  with  the  pamphlet;  but  the 
Major,  when  he  heard  the  story,  laughed,  and  called 
the  young  man  "  a  second  David." 

Mr.  Bennett  looked  at  him  seriously  through 
his  glasses,  and  then  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  small 
slave,  Mitty,  whose  chief  end  in  life  was  the  find- 
ing of  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  spectacles.  He  was  an  ear- 
nest young  man,  but  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes 
away  from  Mitty  when  she  was  in  the  room;  and 
at  the  old  lady's,  "  Mitty,  my  girl,  find  me  my 
glasses,"  he  felt  like  jumping  from  his  seat  and 
calling  upon  her  to  halt.  It  seemed  a  survival  of 
the  dark  ages  that  one  immortal  soul  should  spend 
her  life  hunting  for  the  spectacles  of  another.  To 
Mr.  Bennett,  a  soul  was  a  soul  in  any  colour;  to 
the  Major  the  sons  of  Ham  were  under  a  curse 
which  the  Lord  would  lighten  in  His  own  good  time. 

But  before  many  months,  the  young  man  had 
won  the  affection  of  the  boys  and  the  respect  of 
their  grandfather,  whose  candid  lack  of  logic  was 
overpowered  by  the  reasons  which  Mr.  Bennett 
carried  at  every  finger  tip.  He  not  only  believed 
things,  he  knew  why  he  believed  them ;  and  to  the 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  69 

Major,  with  whom  feelings  were  convictions,  this 
was  more  remarkable  than  the  courage  with  which 
he  had  handed  his  tract  to  old  Rainy-day  Jones. 

As  for  Mr.  Bennett,  he  found  the  Major  a  riddle 
that  he  could  not  read ; .  but  the  Governor's  first 
smile  had  melted  his  reserve,  and  he  declared  Mrs. 
Ambler  to  be  "  a  Madonna  by  Perugino." 

Mrs.  Ambler  had  never  heard  of  Perugino,  and 
the  word  "  Madonna "  suggested  to  her  vague 
Romanist  snares,  but  her  heart  went  out  to  the 
stranger  when  she  found  that  he  was  in  mourning 
for  his  mother.  She  was  not  a  clever  woman  in 
a  worldly  sense,  yet  her  sympathy,  from  the  hourly 
appeals  to  it,  had  grown  as  fine  as  intellect.  She 
was  hopelessly  ignorant  of  ancient  history  and  the 
Italian  Renaissance;  but  she  had  a  genius  for  the 
affections,  and  where  a  greater  mind  would  have 
blundered  over  a  wound,  her  soft  hand  went  by 
intuition  to  the  spot.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  sit 
in  a  rosewood  chair  in  her  parlour,  to  hear  her 
gray  silk  rustle  as  she  crossed  her  feet,  and  to  watch 
her  long  white  fingers  interlace. 

So  she  talked  to  the  young  man  of  his  mother, 
and  he  showed  her  the  daguerrotype  of  the  girl 
he  loved;  and  at  last  she  confided  to  him  her  anx- 
ieties for  Betty's  manners  and  the  Governor's  health, 
and  her  timid  wonder  that  the  Bible  "  counte- 
nanced "  slavery.  She  was  rare  and  elegant  like  a 
piece  of  fine  point  lace;  her  hands  had  known  no 
harder  work  than  the  delicate  hemstitching,  and 
her  mind  had  never  wandered  over  the  nearer 
hills. 

As  time  went  on,  Betty  was  given  over  to  the 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 4 


70  The  Battle-Ground 

care  of  her  governess,  and  she  was  allowed  to  run 
wild  no  more  in  the  meadows.  Virginia,  a  pretty 
prim  little  girl,  already  carried  her  prayer  book 
in  her  hands  when  she  drove  to  church,  and  wore 
Swiss  muslin  frocks  in  the  evenings;  but  Betty 
when  she  was  made  to  hem  tablecloths  on  sunny 
mornings,  would  weep  until  her  needle  rusted. 

On  cloudy  days  she  would  sometimes  have  her 
ambitions  to  be  ladylike,  and  once,  when  she  had 
gone  to  a  party  in  town  and  seen  Virginia  dancing 
while  she  sat  against  the  wall,  she  had  come  home 
to  throw  herself  upon  the  floor. 

"  It's  not  that  I  care  for  boys,  mamma,"  she 
wailed,  "  for  I  despise  them ;  but  they  oughtn't  to 
have  let  me  sit  against  the  wall.  And  none  of  them 
asked  me  to  dance  —  not  even  Dan." 

"  Why,  you  are  nothing  but  a  child,  Betty,"  said 
Mrs.  Ambler,  in  dismay.  "  What  on  earth  does 
it  matter  to  you  whether  the  boys  notice  you  or 
not?" 

"  It  doesn't,"  sobbed  Betty ;  "  but  you  wouldn't 
like  to  sit  against  the  wall,  mamma." 

"  You  can  make  them  suffer  for  it  six  years  hence, 
daughter,"   suggested  the   Governor,   revengefully. 

"  But  suppose  they  don't  have  anything  to  do 
with  me  then,"  cried  Betty,  and  wept  afresh. 

In  the  end,  it  was  Uncle  Bill  who  brought  her  to 
her  feet,  and,  in  doing  so,  he  proved  himself  to  be 
the  philosopher  that  he  was. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Betty,"  he  exclaimed,  "  if  you 
get  up  and  stop  crying,  I'll  give  you  fifty  cents.  I 
reckon  fifty  cents  will  make  up  for  any  boy,  eh  ?  " 

Betty  lay  still  and  looked  up  from  the  floor. 


The  School  for  Gentlemen  71 

"I  —  I  reckon  a  dol-lar  m-i-g-h-t,"  she  gasped, 
and  caught  a  sob  before  it  burst  out. 

"  Well,  you  get  up  and  I'll  give  you  a  dollar. 
There  ain't  many  boys  worth  a  dollar,  I  can  tell 
you." 

Betty  got  up  and  held  out  one  hand  as  she  wiped 
her  eyes  with  the  other. 

"  I  shall  never  speak  to  a  boy  again,"  she  declared, 
as  she  took  the  money. 

That  was  when  she  was  thirteen,  and  a  year  later 
Dan  went  away  to  college. 


VI 

COLLEGE   DAYS 

"  My  dear  grandpa,"  wrote  Dan  during  his  first 
weeks  at  college,  "  I  think  I  am  going  to  like  it 
pretty  well  here  after  I  get  used  to  the  professors. 
The  professors  are  a  great  nuisance.  They  seem  to 
forget  that  a  fellow  of  seventeen  isn't  a  baby  any 
longer. 

"  The  Arcades  are  very  nice,  and  the  maples  on 
the  lawn  remind  me  of  those  at  Uplands,  only  they 
aren't  nearly  so  fine.  My  room  is  rather  small,  but 
Big  Abel  keeps  everything  put  away,  so  I  manage  to 
get  along.  Champe  sleeps  next  to  me,  and  we  are 
always  shouting  through  the  wall  for  Big  Abel.  I 
tell  you,  he  has  to  step  lively  now. 

"  The  night  after  we  came,  we  went  to  supper  at 
Professor  Ball's.  There  was  a  Miss  Ball  there  who 
had  a  pair  of  big  eyes,  but  girls  are  so  silly.  Champe 
talked  to  her  all  the  evening  and  walked  out  to  the 
graveyard  with  her  the  next  afternoon.  I  don't  see 
why  he  wants  to  spend  so  much  of  his  time  with 
young  ladies.  It's  because  they  think  him  good- 
looking,  I  reckon. 

"  We  are  the  only  men  who  have  horses  here,  so 
I  am  glad  you  made  me  bring  Prince  Rupert,  after 
all.  When  I  ride  him  into  town,  everybody  turns  to 
look  at  him,  and  Batt  Horsford,  the  stableman,  says 

78 


College  Days  73 

his  trot  is  as  clean  as  a  razor.  At  first  I  wished  I'd 
brought  my  hunter  instead,  they  made  such  a  fuss 
over  Champe's,  and  I  tell  you  he's  a  regular  timber- 
topper. 

"  A  week  ago  I  rode  to  the  grave  of  Mr.  Jefferson, 
as  I  promised  you,  but  I  couldn't  carry  the  wreath 
for  grandma  because  it  would  have  looked  silly  — 
Champe  said  so.  However,  I  made  Big  Abel  get 
down  and  pull  a  few  flowers  on  the  way. 

"  You  know,  I  had  always  thought  that  only  gen- 
tlemen came  to  the  University,  but  whom  do  you 
think  I  met  the  first  evening  ?  —  why,  the  son  of 
old  Rainy-day  Jones.  What  do  you  think  of  that? 
He  actually  had  the  impudence  to  pass  himself  off 
as  one  of  the  real  Joneses,  and  he  was  going  with  all 
the  men.  Of  course,  I  refused  to  shake  hands  with 
him  —  so  did  Champe  —  and,  when  he  wanted  to 
fight  me,  I  said  I  fought  only  gentlemen.  I  wish  you 
could  have  seen  his  face.  He  looked  as  old  Rainy- 
day  did  when  he  hit  the  free  negro  Levi,  and  I 
knocked  him  down. 

"  By  the  way,  I  wish  you  would  please  send  me  my 
half-year's  pocket  money  in  a  lump,  if  you  can  con- 
veniently do  so.  There  is  a  man  here  who  is  work- 
ing his  way  through  Law,  and  his  mother  has  just 
lost  all  her  money,  so,  unless  some  one  helps  him, 
he'll  have  to  go  out  and  work  before  he  takes  his  de- 
gree. I've  promised  to  lend  him  my  half-year's 
allowance  —  I  said  '  lend  '  because  it  might  hurt  his 
feelings ;  but,  of  course,  I  don't  want  him  to  pay 
it  back.  He's  a  great  fellow,  but  I  can't  tell  you 
his  name  —  I  shouldn't  like  it  in  his  place,  you 
know. 


74  The  Battle-Ground 

"  The  worst  thing  about  college  life  is  having  to 
go  to  classes.  If  it  wasn't  for  that  I  should  be  all 
right,  and,  anyway,  I  am  solid  on  my  Greek  and 
Latin  —  but  I  can't  get  on  with  the  higher  mathe- 
matics. Mr.  Bennett  couldn't  drive  them  into  my 
head  as  he  did  into  Champe's. 

"  I  hope  grandma  has  entirely  recovered  from 
her  lumbago.  Tell  her  Mrs.  Ball  says  she  was  cured 
by  using  red  pepper  plasters. 

"  Do  you  know,  by  the  way,  that  I  left  my  half- 
dozen  best  waistcoats  —  the  embroidered  ones  —  in 
the  bottom  drawer  of  my  bureau,  at  least  Big  Abel 
swears  that's  where  he  put  them.  I  should  be  very 
much  obliged  if  grandma  would  have  them  fixed  up 
and  sent  to  me  —  I  can't  do  without  them.  A  great 
many  gentlemen  here  are  wearing  coloured  cravats, 
and  Charlie  Morson's  brother,  who  came  up  from 
Richmond  for  a  week,  has  a  pair  of  side  whiskers. 
He  says  they  are  fashionable  down  there,  but  I 
don't  like  them. 

"  With  affectionate  greeting  to  grandma  and 
yourself, 

"Your  dutiful  grandson, 

"  Dandridge  Montjoy." 

"  P.S.  I  am  using  my  full  name  now  —  it  will 
look  better  if  I  am  ever  President.  I  wonder  if  Mr. 
Jefferson  was  ever  called  plain  Tom. 

"  Dan." 

"  N.B.  Give  my  love  to  the  little  girls  at  Up- 
lands. 

"  D." 


College  Days  75 

The  Major  read  the  letter  aloud  to  his  wife  while 
she  sat  knitting  by  the  fireside,  with  Mitty  holding 
the  ball  of  yarn  on  a  footstool  at  her  feet. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Molly?"  he  asked 
when  he  had  finished,  his  voice  quivering  with  ex- 
citement. 

"  Red  pepper  plasters !  "  returned  the  old  lady, 
contemptuously.  "  As  if  I  hadn't  been  making  them 
for  Cupid  for  the  last  twenty  years.  Red  pepper 
plasters,  indeed !  Why,  they're  no  better  than  mus- 
tard ones.  I  reckon  I've  made  enough  of  them  to 
know." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  Molly,"  explained  the  Major, 
a  little  crestfallen.  "  I  was  speaking  of  the  letter. 
That's  a  fine  letter,  now,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  It  might  be  worse,"  admitted  Mrs.  Lightfoot, 
coolly ;  "  but  for  my  part,  I  don't  care  to  have  my 
grandson  upon  terms  of  equality  with  any  of  that 
rascal  Jones's  blood.  Why,  the  man  whips  his  ser- 
vants." 

"  But  he  isn't  upon  any  terms,  my  dear.  He  re- 
fused to  shake  hands  with  him,  didn't  you  hear  that  ? 
Perhaps  I'd  better  read  the  letter  again." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  said  his 
wife,  clicking  her  needles,  "  but  it  can't  prevent  his 
being  in  classes  with  him,  all  the  same.  And  I  am 
sure,  if  I  had  known  the  University  was  so  little 
select,  I  should  have  insisted  upon  sending  him  to 
Oxford,  where  his  great-grandfather  went  before 
him." 

"  Good  gracious,  Molly !  You  don't  wish  the  lad 
was  across  the  ocean,  do  you  ?  " 

"  It  matters  very  little  where  he  is  so  long  as  he 


j6  The  Battle-Ground 

is  a  gentleman,"  returned  the  old  lady,  so  sharply 
that  Mitty  began  to  unwind  the  worsted  rapidly. 

"  Nonsense,  Molly,"  protested  the  Major,  irri- 
tably, for  he  could  not  stand  opposition  upon  his 
own  hearth-rug.  "  The  boy  couldn't  be  hurt  by 
sitting  in  the  same  class  with  the  devil  himself  — 
nor  could  Champe,  for  that  matter.  They  are  too 
good  Lightfoots." 

"  I  am  not  uneasy  about  Champe,"  rejoined  his 
wife.  "  Champe  has  never  been  humoured  as  Dan 
has  been,  I'm  glad  to  say." 

The  Major  started  up  as  red  as  a  beet. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  humour  him,  madam  ?  "  he 
demanded  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"  Do  pray,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  you  will  frighten  Mitty 
to  death,"  said  his  wife,  reprovingly,  "  and  it  is  really 
very  dangerous  for  you  to  excite  yourself  so  —  you 
remember  the  doctor  cautioned  you  against  it." 
And,  by  the  time  the  Major  was  thoroughly  de- 
pressed, she  skilfully  brought  out  her  point.  "  Of 
course  you  spoil  the  child  to  death.  You  know  it 
as  well  as  I  do." 

The  Major,  with  the  fear  of  apoplexy  in  his 
mind,  had  no  answer  on  his  tongue,  though  a  few 
minutes  later  he  showed  his  displeasure  by  ordering 
his  horse  and  riding  to  Uplands  to  talk  things  over 
with  the  Governor. 

"  I  am  afraid  Molly  is  breaking,"  he  thought 
gloomily,  as  he  rode  along.  "  She  isn't  what  she 
was  when  I  married  her  fifty  years  ago." 

But  at  Uplands  his  ill  humour  was  dispelled.  The 
Governor  read  the  letter  and  declared  that  Dan  was 
a  fine  lad,  "  and  I'm  glad  you  haven't  spoiled  him, 


College  Days  77 

Major,"  he  said  heartily.  "  Yes,  they're  both  fine 
lads  and  do  you  honour." 

"  So  they  do!  so  they  do!  "  exclaimed  the  Major, 
delightedly.  "  That's  just  what  I  said  to  Molly, 
sir.  And  Dan  sends  his  love  to  the  little  girls,"  he 
added,  smiling  upon  Betty  and  Virginia,  who  stood 
by. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  responded  Virginia,  prettily, 
looking  at  the  old  man  with  her  dovelike  eyes ;  but 
Betty  tossed  her  head  —  she  had  an  imperative  little 
toss  which  she  used  when  she  was  angry.  "  I 
am  only  three  years  younger  than  he  is,"  she  said, 
"  and  I'm  not  a  little  girl  any  longer  —  Mammy  has 
had  to  let  down  all  my  dresses.  I  am  fourteen  years 
old,  sir." 

"  And  quite  a  young  lady,"  replied  the  Major, 
with  a  bow.  "  There  are  not  two  handsomer  girls 
in  the  state,  Governor,  which  means,  of  course,  that 
there  are  not  two  handsomer  girls  in  the  world,  sir. 
Why,  Virginia's  eyes  are  almost  a  match  for  my 
Aunt  Emmeline's,  and  poets  have  immortalized  hers. 
Do  you  recall  the  verses  by  the  English  officer  she 
visited  in  prison?  — 

" '  The  stars  in  Rebel  skies  that  shine 
Are  the  bright  orbs  of  Emmeline.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  Governor.  "  Emme- 
line Lightfoot  is  as  famous  as  Diana,"  then  his 
quick  eyes  caught  Betty's  drooping  head,  "  and  what 
of  this  little  lady  ?  "  he  asked,  patting  her  shoulder. 
"  There's  not  a  brighter  smile  in  Virginia  than 
hers,  eh,  Major?" 


78  The  Battle-Ground 

But  the  Major  was  not  to  be  outdone  when  there 
were  compliments  to  be  exchanged. 

"  Her  hair  is  like  the  sunshine,"  he  began,  and 
checked  himself,  for  at  the  first  mention  of  her 
hair  Betty  had  fled. 

It  was  on  this  afternoon  that  she  brewed  a  dye  of 
walnut  juice  and  carried  it  in  secret  to  her  room. 
She  had  loosened  her  braids  and  was  about  to 
plunge  her  head  into  the  basin  when  Mrs.  Ambler 
came  in  upon  her.  "  Why,  Betty !  Betty !  "  she  cried 
in  horror. 

Betty  turned  with  a  start,  wrapped  in  her  shining 
hair.  "  It  is  the  only  thing  left  to  do,  mamma,"  she 
said  desperately.  "  I  am  going  to  dye  it.  It  isn't 
ladylike,  I  know,  but  red  hair  isn't  ladylike  either. 
I  have  tried  conjuring,  and  it  won't  conjure,  so  I'm 
going  to  dye  it." 

"Betty!  Betty!"  was  all  Mrs.  Ambler  could 
say,  though  she  seized  the  basin  and  threw  it  from 
the  window  as  if  it  held  poison.  "  If  you  ever  let 
that  stuff  touch  your  hair,  I  —  I'll  shave  your  head 
for  you,"  she  declared  as  she  left  the  room;  but  a 
moment  afterward  she  looked  in  again  to  add, 
"  Your  grandmamma  had  red  hair,  and  she  was  the 
beauty  of  her  day  —  there,  now,  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself !  " 

So  Betty  smiled  again,  and  when  Virginia  came 
in  to  dress  for  supper,  she  found  her  parading  about 
in  Aunt  Lydia's  best  bombazine  gown. 

"  This  is  how  I'll  look  when  I'm  grown  up,"  she 
said,  the  corner  of  her  eye  on  her  sister. 

"  You'll  look  just  lovely,"  returned  Virginia, 
(promptly,  for  she  always  said  the  sweetest  thing  at 
'the  sweetest  time. 


College  Days  79 

"  And  I'm  going  to  look  like  this  when  Dan  comes 
home  next  summer,"  resumed  Betty,  sedately. 

"  Not  in  Aunt  Lydia' s  dress  ?  " 

"  You  goose !  Of  course  not.  I'm  going  to  get 
Mammy  to  make  me  a  Swiss  muslin  down  to  the 
ground,  and  I'm  going  to  wear  six  starched  petti- 
coats because  I  haven't  any  hoops.  I'm  just  wild 
to  wear  hoops,  aren't  you,  Virginia  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  so,"  responded  Virginia,  doubtfully ; 
"  but  it  will  be  hard  to  sit  down,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"Oh,  but  I  know  how,"  said  Betty.  "  Aunt 
Lydia  showed  me  how  to  do  it  gracefully.  You 
give  a  little  kick  —  ever  so  little  and  nobody  sees  it 
—  and  then  you  just  sink  into  your  seat.  I  can  do 
it  well." 

"  You  were  always  clever,"  exclaimed  Virginia, 
as  sweetly  as  before.  She  was  parting  her  satiny 
hair  over  her  forehead,  and  the  glass  gave  back  a 
youthful  likeness  of  Mrs.  Ambler.  She  was  the 
beauty  of  the  family,  and  she  knew  it,  which  made 
her  all  the  lovelier  to  Betty. 

"  I  declare,  your  freckles  are  all  gone,"  she  said, 
as  her  sister's  head  looked  over  her  shoulder.  "  I 
wonder  if  it  is  the  buttermilk  that  has  made  you  so 
white?" 

"  It  must  be  that,"  admitted  Betty,  who  had  used 
it  faithfully  for  the  sixty  nights  "  Aunt  Lydia  says 
it  works  wonders."  Then,  as  she  looked  at  herself, 
her  eyes  narrowed  and  she  laughed  aloud.  "  Why, 
Dan  won't  know  me,"  she  cried  merrily. 

But  whatever  hopes  she  had  of  Dan  withered  in 
the  summer.  When  he  came  home  for  the  holidays, 
he  brought  with  him  an  unmistakable  swagger  and 


80  The  Battle-Ground 

a  supply  of  coloured  neckerchiefs.  On  his  first  visit 
to  Uplands  he  called  Virginia  "  my  pretty  child," 
and  said  "  Good  day,  little  lady,"  to  Betty.  He  car- 
ried himself  like  an  Indian,  as  the  Governor  put  it, 
and  he  was  very  lithe  and  muscular,  though  he  did 
not  measure  up  to  Champe  by  half  a  head.  It  was 
the  Mont  joy  blood  in  him,  people  thought,  for  the 
Lightfoots  were  all  of  great  height,  and  he  had,  too, 
a  shock  of  his  father's  coarse  black  hair,  which 
flared  stiffly  above  the  brilliant  Lightfoot  eyes.  As 
he  galloped  along  the  turnpike  on  Prince  Rupert, 
the  travelling  countrymen  turned  to  look  after  him, 
and  muttered  that  "  dare-devil  Jack  Mont  joy  had 
risen  from  his  grave  —  if  he  had  a  grave." 

Once  he  met  Betty  at  the  gate,  and  catching  her 
up  before  him,  dashed  with  her  as  far  as  Aunt  Ail- 
sey's  cabin  and  back  again.  "  You  are  as  light  as  a 
fly,"  he  said  with  a  laugh,  "  and  not  much  bigger. 
There,  take  your  hair  out  of  my  eyes,  or  I'll  ride 
amuck." 

Betty  caught  her  hair  in  one  hand  and  drew  it 
across  her  breast.  "  This  is  like  — "  she  began 
gayly,  and  checked  herself.  She  was  thinking  of 
"  that  devil  Jack  Montjoy  and  Jane  Lightfoot." 

"  I  must  take  my  chance  now,"  said  Dan,  in  his 
easy,  masterful  way.  "  You  will  be  too  old  for  this 
by  next  year.  Why,  you  will  be  in  long  dresses 
then,  and  Virginia  —  have  you  noticed,  by  the  way, 
what  a  beauty  Virginia  is  going  to  be  ?  " 

"  She  is  just  lovely,"  heartily  agreed  Betty. 
"  She's  prettier  than  your  Great-aunt  Emmeline, 
isn't  she?" 

"  By  George,  she  is.    And  I've  been  in  love  with! 


College  Days  8 1 

Great-aunt  Emmeline  for  ten  years  because  I 
couldn't  find  her  match.  I  say,  don't  let  anybody 
go  off  with  Virginia  while  I'm  at  college,  will  you  ?  " 
. "  All  right,"  said  Betty,  and  though  she  smiled  at 
him  through  her  hair,  her  smile  was  not  so  bright  as 
it  had  been.  It  was  all  very  well  to  hear  Virginia 
praised,  she  told  herself,  but  she  should  have  liked 
it  better  had  Dan  been  a  little  less  emphatic.  "  I 
don't  think  any  one  is  going  to  run  off  with  her," 
she  added  gravely,  and  let  the  subject  of  her  sister's 
beauty  pass. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  week,  when  Dan  went  back 
to  college,  her  loyal  heart  reproached  her,  and  she 
confided  to  Virginia  that  "  he  thought  her  a  great 
deal  lovelier  than  Great-aunt  Emmeline." 

"  Really  ?  "  asked  Virginia,  and  determined  to  be 
very  nice  to  him  when  he  came  home  for  the  holi- 
days. 

"  But  what  does  he  say  about  you  ?  "  she  inquired 
after  a  moment. 

"  About  me  ?  "  returned  Betty.  "  Oh,  he  doesn't 
say  anything  about  me,  except  that  I  am  kind."    ■ 

Virginia  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  You  are  kind, 
dear,"  she  said  in  her  sweetest  voice. 

And  "  kind,"  after  all,  was  the  word  for  Betty, 
unless  Big  Abel  had  found  one  when  he  said,  "  She 
is  des  all  heart."  It  was  Betty  who  had  tramped 
three  miles  through  the  snow  last  Christmas  to  carry 
her  gifts  to  the  free  negro  Levi,  who  was  "  laid  up  " 
and  could  not  come  to  claim  his  share ;  and  it  was 
Betty  who  had  asked  as  a  present  for  herself  the 
lame  boy  Micah,  that  belonged  to  old  Rainy-day 
Jones.    She  had  met  Micah  in  the  road,  and  from 


82  The  Battle-Ground 

that  day  the  Governor's  life  was  a  burden  until  he 
sent  the  negro  up  to  her  door  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing. There  was  never  a  sick  slave  or  a  homeless 
dog  that  she  would  not  fly  out  to  welcome,  bare- 
headed and  a  little  breathless,  with  the  kindness 
brimming  over  from  her  eyes.  "  She  has  her 
father's  head  and  her  mother's  heart,"  said  the 
Major  to  his  wife,  when  he  saw  the  girl  going  by 
with  the  dogs  leaping  round  her  and  a  young  fox 
in  her  arms.  "  What  a  wife  she  would  make  for 
Dan  when  she  grows  up!  I  wish  he'd  fancy  her. 
They'd  be  well  suited,  eh,  Molly?" 

"  If  he  fancies  the  thing  that  is  suited  to  him,  he 
is  less  of  a  man  than  I  take  him  to  be,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Lightfoot,  with  a  cynicism  which  confounded  the 
Major.  "  He  will  lose  his  head  over  her  doll  baby 
of  a  sister,  I  suppose  —  not  that  she  isn't  a  good 
girl,"  she  added  briskly.  "  Julia  Ambler  couldn't 
have  had  a  bad  child  if  she  had  tried,  though  I  con- 
fess I  am  surprised  that  she  could  have  helped  hav- 
ing a  silly  one;  but  Betty,  why,  there  hasn't  been 
a  girl  since  I  grew  up  with  so  much  sense  in  her 
head  as  Betty  Ambler  has  in  her  little  finger." 

"  When  I  think  of  you  fifty  years  ago,  I  must 
admit  that  you  put  a  high  standard,  Molly,"  inter- 
posed the  Major,  who  was  always  polite  when  he 
was  not  angry. 

"  She  spent  a  week  with  me  while  you  were 
away,"  Mrs.  Lightfoot  went  on  in  an  unchanged 
voice,  though  with  a  softened  face,  "  and,  I  declare, 
shejcept  house  as  well  as  I  could  have  done  it  my- 
self, and  Cupid  says  she  washed  the  pink  teaset 
every  morning  with  her  own  hands,  and  she  actually, 


College  Days  83 

cured  Rhody's  lameness  with  a  liniment  she  made 
out  of  Jimson  weed.  I  tell  you  now,  Mr.  Light- 
foot,  that,  if  I  get  sick,  Betty  Ambler  is  the  only 
girl  I'm  going  to  have  inside  the  house." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Major,  meekly, 
"  I'll  try  to  remember ;  and,  in  that  case,  I  reckon 
we'd  as  well  drop  a  hint  to  Dan,  eh,  Molly  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then  she  said  "  Humph !  "  beneath  her  breath,  and 
took  up  her  knitting  from  the  little  table  at  her  side. 

But  Dan  was  living  fast  at  college,  and  the 
Major's  hints  were  thrown  away.  He  read  of  "  the 
Ambler  girls  who  are  growing  into  real  beauties," 
and  he  skipped  the  part  that  said,  "  Your  grand- 
mother has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Betty  and  enjoys 
having  her  about." 

"  Here's  something  for  you,  Champe,"  he  re- 
marked with  a  laugh,  as  he  tossed  the  letter  upon  the 
table.  "  Gather  your  beauties  while  you  may,  for 
I  prefer  bull  pups.  Did  Batt  Horsford  tell  you  I'd 
offered  him  twenty-five  dollars  for  that  one  of  his  ?  " 

Champe  picked  up  the  letter  and  unfolded  it 
slowly.  He  was  a  tall,  slender  young  fellow,  with 
curling  pale  brown  hair  and  fine  straight  features. 
His  face,  in  the  strong  light  of  the  window  by  which 
he  stood,  showed  a  tracery  of  blue  veins  across  the 
high  forehead. 

"  Oh,  shut  up  about  bull  pups,"  he  said  irritably. 
"  You  are  as  bad  as  a  breeder,  and  yet  you  couldn't 
tell  that  thoroughbred  of  John  Morson's  from  a 
cross  with  a  terrier." 

"  You  bet  I  couldn't,"  cried  Dan,  firing  up ;  but 
Champe  was  reading  the  letter,  and  a  faint  flush 


84  The  Battle-Ground 

had  risen  to  his  face.  "  The  girl  is  like  a  spray  of 
golden-rod  in  the  sunshine,"  wrote  the  Major,  with 
his  old-fashioned  rhetoric. 

"  What  is  it  he  says,  eh  ?  "  asked  Dan,  noting  the 
flush  and  drawing  his  conclusions. 

"  He  says  that  Aunt  Molly  and  himself  will  meet 
us  at  the  White  Sulphur  next  summer." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that.  What  is  it  he  says  about 
the  girls;  they  are  real  beauties  aren't  they?  By 
the  way,  Champe,  why  don't  you  marry  one  of 
them  and  settle  down  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  ? "  retorted  Champe,  as  Dan  got 
up  and  called  to  Big  Abel  to  bring  his  riding  clothes. 
"  Oh,  I'm  not  a  lady's  man,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I've 
too  moody  a  face  for  them,"  and  he  began  to  dress 
himself  with  the  elaborate  care  which  had  won  for 
him  the  title  of  "  Beau  "  Montjoy. 

By  the  next  summer,  Betty  and  Virginia  had  shot 
up  as  if  in  a  night,  but  neither  Champe  nor  Dan 
came  home.  After  weeks  of  excited  preparation, 
the  Major  and  Mrs.  Lightfoot  started,  with  Congo 
and  Mitty,  for  the  White  Sulphur,  where  the  boys 
were  awaiting  them.  As  the  months  went  on,  vague 
rumours  reached  the  Governor's  ears  —  rumours 
which  the  Major  did  not  quite  disprove  when  he 
came  back  in  the  autumn.  "  Yes,  the  boy  is  sowing 
his  wild  oats,"  he  said ;  "  but  what  can  you  expect, 
Governor?  Why,  he  is  not  yet  twenty,  and  young 
blood  is  hot  blood,  sir." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  he  has  been  losing  at 
cards,"  returned  the  Governor ;  "  but  take  my  ad- 
vice, and  let  him  pick  himself  up  when  he  falls  t6 
hurt.    Don't  back  him  up,  Major." 


College  Days  85 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  "  exclaimed  the  Major,  testily. 
"  You're  like  Molly,  Governor,  and,  bless  my  soul, 
one  old  woman  is  as  much  as  I  can  manage.  Why, 
she  wants  me  to  let  the  boy  starve." 

The  Governor  sighed,  but  he  did  not  protest.  He 
liked  Dan,  with  all  his  youthful  errors,  and  he 
wanted  to  put  out  a  hand  to  hold  him  back  from 
destruction;  but  he  feared  to  bring  the  terrible 
flush  to  the  Major's  face.  It  was  better  to  leave 
things  alone,  he  thought,  and  so  sighed  and  said 
nothing. 

That  was  an  autumn  of  burning  political  condi- 
tions, and  the  excited  slavery  debates  in  the  North 
were  reechoing  through  the  Virginia  mountains. 
The  Major,  like  the  old  war  horse  that  he  was,  had 
already  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  determined  to  lend 
his  tongue  or  his  sword,  as  his  state  might  require. 
That  a  fight  could  go  on  in  the  Union  so  long  as 
Virginia  or  himself  kept  out  of  it,  seemed  to  him  a 
possibility  little  less  than  preposterous. 

"  Didn't  we  fight  the  Revolution,  sir  ?  and  didn't 
we  fight  the  War  of  1812?  and  didn't  we  fight  the 
Mexican  War  to  boot  ?  "  he  would  demand.  "  And, 
bless  my  soul,  aren't  we  ready  to  fight  all  the  Yan- 
kees in  the  universe,  and  to  whip  them  clean  out  of 
the  Union,  too  ?  Why,  it  wouldn't  take  us  ten  days 
to  have  them  on  their  knees,  sir." 

The  Governor  did  not  laugh  now;  the  times 
were  too  grave  for  that.  His  clear  eyes  had  seen 
whither  they  were  drifting,  and  he  had  thrown  his 
influence  against  the  tide,  which,  he  knew,  would 
but  sweep  over  him  in  the  end.  "  You  are  out  of 
place  in  Virginia,  Major,"  he  said  seriously.    "  Vif- 


86  The  Battle-Ground 

ginia  wants  peace,  and  she  wants  the  Union.  Go 
south,  my  dear  sir,  go  south." 

During  the  spring  before  he  had  gone  south  him- 
self to  a  convention  at  Montgomery,  and  he  had 
spoken  there  against  one  of  the  greatest  of  the 
Southern  orators.  His  state  had  upheld  him,  but  the 
Major  had  not.  He  came  home  to  find  his  old  neigh- 
bour red  with  resentment,  and  refusing  for  the  first 
few  days  to  shake  the  hand  of  "  a  man  who  would 
tamper  with  the  honour  of  Virginia."  At  the  end  of 
the  week  the  Major's  hand  was  held  out,  but  his 
heart  still  bore  his  grievance,  and  he  began  quoting 
William  L.  Yancey,  as  he  had  once  quoted  Mr.  Ad- 
dison. In  the  little  meetings  at  Uplands  or  at  Cheri- 
coke,  he  would  now  declaim  the  words  of  the  im- 
passioned agitator  as  vigorously  as  in  the  old  days 
he  had  recited  those  of  the  polished  gentleman  of 
letters.  The  rector  and  the  doctor  would  sit  silent 
and  abashed,  and  only  the  Governor  would  break  in 
now  and  then  with :  "  You  go  too  far,  Major.  There 
is  a  step  from  which  there  is  no  drawing  back,  and 
that  step  means  ruin  to  your  state,  sir." 

"  Ruin,  sir  ?  Nonsense !  nonsense !  We  made 
the  Union,  and  we'll  unmake  it  when  we  please.  We 
didn't  make  slavery;  but,  if  Virginia  wants  slaves, 
by  God,  sir,  she  shall  have  slaves !  " 

It  was  after  such  a  discussion  in  the  Governor's 
library  that  the  old  gentleman  rose  one  evening  to 
depart  in  his  wrath.  "  The  man  who  sits  up  in  my 
presence  and  questions  my  right  to  own  my  slaves  is 
a  damned  black  abolitionist,  sir,"  he  thundered  as 
he  went,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  his  coach  he 
was  so  blinded  by  his  rage  that  Congo,  the  driver, 


College  Days  87 

was  obliged  to  lift  him  bodily  into  his  seat.  "  Dis 
yer  ain'  no  way  ter  do,  Ole  Marster,"  said  the  negro, 
reproachfully.  "  How  I  gwine  teck  cyar  you  like 
Ole  Miss  done  tole  me,  w'en  you  let  yo'  bile  git  ter 
yo'  haid  like  dis  ?    'Tain'  no  way  ter  do,  suh." 

The  Major  was  too  full  for  silence ;  and,  ignoring 
the  Governor,  who  had  hurried  out  to  beseech  him 
to  return,  he  let  his  rage  burst  forth. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Congo,  I  can't  help  it !  "  he  said. 
"  They  want  to  take  you  from  me,  do  you  hear  ? 
and  that  black  Republican  party  up  north  wants  to 
take  you,  too.  They  say  I've  no  right  to  you,  Congo, 
—  bless  my  soul,  and  you  were  born  on  my  own 
land !  " 

"  Go  'way,  Ole  Marster,  who  gwine  min'  w'at  dey 
say?"  returned  Congo,  soothingly.  "You  des  bet- 
ter wrop  dat  ar  neck'chif  roun'  yo'  thoat  er  Ole 
Miss'll  git  atter  you  sho'  es  you  live !  " 

The  Major  wiped  his  eyes  on  the  end  of  the  neck- 
erchief as  he  tied  it  about  his  throat.  "  But,  if  they 
elect  their  President,  he  may  send  down  an  army  to 
free  you,"  he  went  on,  with  something  like  a  sob  of 
anger,  "  and  I'd  like  to  know  what  we'd  do  then, 
Congo." 

"  Lawd,  Lawd,  suh,"  said  Congo,  as  he  wrapped 
the  robe  about  his  master's  knees.  "  Did  you  ever 
heah  tell  er  sech  doin's !  "  then,  as  he  mounted  the 
box,  he  leaned  down  and  called  out  reassuringly, 
"  Don'  you  mm',  Ole  Marster,  we'll  des  loose  de 
dawgs  on  'em,  dat's  w'at  we'll  do,"  and  they  rolled 
off  indignantly,  leaving  the  Governor  half  angry 
and  half  apologetic  upon  his  portico. 

It  was  on  the  way  home  that  evening  that  Congo 


88  The  Battle-Ground 

spied  in  the  sassafras  bushes  beside  the  road  a  run- 
away slave  of  old  Rainy-day  Jones's,  and  descended, 
with  a  shout,  to  deliver  his  brother  into  bondage. 

"Hi,  Ole  Marster,  w'at  I  gwine  tie  him  wid?" 
he  demanded  gleefully. 

The  Major  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  his  face 
went  white. 

"  What's  that  on  his  cheek,  Congo  ?  "  he  asked  in 
a  whisper. 

"  Dat's  des  whar  dey  done  hit  'im,  Ole  Marster. 
How  I  gwine  tie  'im  ?  " 

But  the  Major  had  looked  again,  and  the  awful 
redness  rose  to  his  brow. 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool !  "  he  said  with  a  roar,  as  he 
dived  under  his  seat  and  brought  out  his  brandy 
flask.  "  Give  him  a  swallow  of  that  —  be  quick,  do 
you  hear?  Pour  it  into  your  cup,  sir,  and  give 
him  that  corn  pone  in  your  pocket.  I  see  it  sticking 
out.  There,  now  hoist  him  up  beside  you,  and,  if  I 
meet  that  rascal  Jones,  I'll  blow  his  damn  brains 
out !  " 

The  Major  doubtless  would  have  fulfilled  his 
oath  as  surely  as  his  twelve  peers  would  have  shaken 
his  hand  afterwards ;  but,  by  the  time  they  came  up 
with  Rainy-day  a  mile  ahead,  his  wrath  had  settled 
and  he  had  decided  that  "  he  didn't  want  such  dirty 
blood  upon  his  hands." 

So  he  took  a  different  course,  and  merely  swore  a 
little  as  he  threw  a  roll  of  banknotes  into  the  road. 
"  Don't  open  your  mouth  to  me,  you  hell  hound," 
he  cried,  "  or  I'll  have  you  whipped  clean  out  of  this 
county,  sir,  and  there's  not  a  gentleman  in  Vir- 
ginia that  wouldn't  lend  a  hand.    Don't  open  your 


College  Days  89 

n»duth  to  me,  I  tell  you;  here's  the  price  of  your 
property,  and  you  can  stoop  in  the  dirt  to  pick  it 
up.  There's  no  man  alive  that  shall  question  the 
divine  right  of  slavery  in  my  presence;  but  —  but 
it  is  an  institution  for  gentlemen,  and  you,  sir,  are 
a  damned  scoundrel !  " 

With  which  the  Maj,or  and  old  Rainy-day  rode 
on  in  opposite  ways*. 


BOOK   SECOND 
YOUNG  BLOOD 


BOOK  SECOND 

YOUNG   BLOOD 


THE   MAJOR  S    CHRISTMAS 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  great  logs  blazed  at  Cher- 
icoke.  From  the  open  door  the  red  light  of  the  fire 
streamed  through  the  falling  snow  upon  the  broad 
drive  where  the  wheel  ruts  had  frozen  into  ribbons 
of  ice.  The  naked  boughs  of  the  old  elms  on  the 
lawn  tapped  the  peaked  roof  with  twigs  as  cold 
and  bright  as  steel,  and  the  two  high  urns  beside  the 
steps  had  an  iridescent  fringe  around  their  marble 
basins. 

In  the  hall,  beneath  swinging  sprays  of  mistletoe 
and  holly,  the  Major  and  his  hearty  cronies  were 
dipping  apple  toddy  from  the  silver  punch  bowl 
half  hidden  in  its  wreath  of  evergreens.  Behind 
them  the  panelled  parlour  was  aglow  with  warmth, 
and  on  its  shining  wainscoting  Great-aunt  Emme- 
line,  under  her  Christmas  garland,  held  Her  red  apple 
stiffly  away  from  the  skirt  of  her  amber  brocade. 

The  Major,  who  had  just  filled  the  rector's  glass, 
let  the  ladle  fall  with  a  splash,  and  hurried  to  the 
open  door. 

93 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 5 


94  The  Battle-Ground 

"  They're  coming,  Molly ! "  he  called  excitedly, 
"  I  hear  their  horses  in  the  drive.  No,  bless  my 
soul,  it's  wheels!  The  Governor's  here,  Molly! 
Fill  their  glasses  at  once  —  they'll  be  frozen 
through !  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot,  who  had  been  watching  from  the 
ivied  panes  of  the  parlour,  rustled,  with  sharp  ex- 
clamation, into  the  hall,  and  began  hastily  dipping 
from  the  silver  punch  bowl.  "  I  really  think,  Mr. 
Lightfoot,  that  the  house  would  be  more  comfortable 
if  you'd  be  content  to  keep  the  front  door  closed,"  she 
found  time  to  remark.  "  Do  take  your  glass  by  the 
fire,  Mr.  Blake;  I  declare,  I  positively  feel  the  sleet 
in  my  face.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  just  as  hos- 
pitable, Mr.  Lightfoot,  to  open  to  them  when  they 
knock?" 

"  What,  keep  the  door  shut  on  Christmas  Eve, 
Molly !  "  exclaimed  the  Major  from  the  front  steps, 
where  the  snow  was  falling  on  his  bare  head. 
"  Why,  you're  no  better  than  a  heathen.  It's  time 
you  were  learning  your  catechism  over  again.  Ah, 
here  they  are,  here  they  are!  Come  in,  ladies, 
come  in.  The  night  is  cold,  but  the  welcome's 
warm.  —  Cupid,  you  fool,  bring  an  umbrella,  and 
don't  stand  grinning  there.  —  Here,  my  dear  Miss 
Lydia,  take  my  arm,  and  never  mind  the  weather; 
we've  the  best  apple  toddy  in  Virginia  to  warm  you 
with,  and  the  biggest  log  in  the  woods  for  you  to 
look  at.  Ah,  come  in,  come  in,"  and  he  led  Miss 
Lydia,  in  her  white  wool  "  fascinator,"  into  the 
house  where  Mrs.  Lightfoot  stood  waiting  with 
open  arms  and  the  apple  toddy.  The  Governor  had 
insisted  upon  carrying  his  wife,  lest  she  chill  her 


The  Major's  Christmas  95 

feet,  and  Betty  and  Virginia,  in  their  long  cloaks, 
fluttered  across  the  snow  and  up  the  steps.  As 
they  reached  the  hall,  the  Major  caught  them  in  his 
arms  and  soundly  kissed  them.  "  It  isn't  Christmas 
every  day,  you  know,"  he  lamented  ruefully,  "  and 
even  our  friend  Mr.  Addison  wasn't  steeled  against 
rosy  cheeks,  though  he  was  but  a  poor  creature  who 
hadn't  been  to  Virginia.  But  come  to  the  fire,  come 
to  the  fire.  There's  eggnog  to  your  liking,  Mr.  Bill, 
and  just  a  sip  of  this,  Miss  Lydia,  to  warm  you  up. 
You  may  defy  the  wind,  ma'am,  with  a  single  sip  of 
my  apple  toddy."  He  seized  the  poker  and,  while 
Congo  brought  the  glasses,  prodded  the  giant  log 
until  the  flames  leaped,  roaring,  up  the  chimney  and 
the  wainscoting  glowed  deep  red. 

"  What,  not  a  drop,  Miss  Lydia  ?  "  he  cried,  in 
aggrieved  tones,  when  he  turned  his  back  upon  the 
fire. 

Miss  Lydia  shook  her  head,  blushing  as  she  un- 
tied her  "  fascinator."  She  was  fond  of  apple  toddy, 
but  she  regarded  the  taste  as  an  indelicate  one,  and 
would  as  soon  have  admitted,  before  gentlemen,  a 
liking  for  cabbage. 

"  Don't  drink  it,  dear,"  she  whispered  to  Betty, 
as  the  girl  took  her  glass ;  "  it  will  give  you  a  vulgar 
colour." 

Betty  turned  upon  her  the  smile  of  beaming  affec- 
tion with  which  she  always  regarded  her  family. 
She  was  standing  under  the  mistletoe  in  her  light 
blue  cloak  and  hood  bordered  with  swan's-down,  and 
her  eyes  shone  like  lamps  in  the  bright  pallor  of  her 
face. 

"  Why,  it  is  delicious ! "  she  said,  with  the  pretty 


96  The  Battle-Ground 

effusion  the  old  man  loved.  "  It  is  better  than  my 
eggnog,  isn't  it,  papa  ?  " 

"  If  anything  can  be  better  than  your  eggnog,  my 
dear,"  replied  the  Governor,  courteously,  "  it  is  the 
Major's  apple  toddy."  The  Major  bowed,  and  Betty 
gave  a  merry  little  nod.  "  If  you  hadn't  put  it 
so  nicely,  I  should  never  have  forgiven  you,"  she 
laughed ;  "  but  he  always  puts  it  nicely,  Major, 
doesn't  he?  I  made  him  the  other  day  a  plum 
pudding  of  my  very  own, —  I  wouldn't  even  let  Aunt 
Floretta  seed  the  raisins,  —  and  when  it  came  on 
burnt,  what  do  you  think  he  said?  Why,  I  asked 
him  how  he  liked  it,  and  he  thought  for  a  minute 
and  replied,  '  My  dear,  it's  the  very  best  burnt 
plum  pudding  I  ever  ate.'  Now  wasn't  that  dear  of 
him?" 

"  Ah,  but  you  should  have  heard  how  he  put 
things  when  he  was  in  politics,"  said  the  Major,  re- 
filling his  glass.  "  On  my  word,  he  could  make  the 
truth  sound  sweeter  than  most  men  could  make  a 
lie." 

"  Come,  come,  Major,"  protested  the  Governor. 
"  Julia,  can't  you  induce  our  good  friend  to  for- 
bear?" 

"  He  knows  I  like  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler, 
turning  from  a  discussion  of  her  Christmas  dinner 
with  Mrs.  Lightfoot. 

"  Then  you  shall  hear  it,  madam,"  declared  the 
Major,  "  and  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  that  if  the 
Governor  hasn't  told  you  about  the  reply  he  made 
to  Plaintain  Dudley  when  he  asked  him  for  his  po- 
litical influence,  you  haven't  the  kind  of  husband, 
ma'am,   that   Molly   Lightfoot  has   got.     Keep  a 


The  Major's  Christmas  97 

secret  from  Molly !  Why,  I'd  as  soon  try  to  keep  a 
keg  full  of  brandy  from  following  an  auger." 

"  Auger,  indeed !  "  exclaimed  the  little  old  lady, 
to  whom  the  Major's  facetiousness  was  the  only 
serious  thing  about  him.  "  Your  secrets  are  like 
apples,  sir,  that  hang  to  every  passer-by,  until  I 
store  them  away.    Auger,  indeed !  " 

"  No  offence,  my  dear,"  was  the  Major's  meek 
apology.  "  An  auger  is  a  very  useful  implement, 
eh,  Governor;  and  it's  Plaintain  Dudley,  after  all, 
that  we're  concerned  with.  Do  you  remember 
Plaintain,  Mrs.  Ambler,  a  big  ruddy  fellow,  with 
ruffled  shirts  ?  Oh,  he  prided  himself  on  his  shirts, 
did  Plaintain !  " 

"  A  very  becoming  weakness,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler, 
smiling  at  the  Governor,  who  was  blushing  above 
his  tucks. 

"  Becoming  ?  Well,  well,  I  dare  say,"  admitted 
the  Major.  "  Plaintain  thought  so,  at  any  rate. 
Why,  I  can  see  him  now,  on  the  day  he  came  to  the 
Governor,  puffing  out  his  front,  and  twirling  his 
white  silk  handkerchief.  '  May  I  ask  your  opinion 
of  me,  sir?'  he  had  the  audacity  to  begin,  and  the 
Governor!  Bless  my  soul,  ma'am,  the  Governor 
bowed  his  politest  bow,  and  replied  with  his  pleas- 
antest  smile,  '  My  opinion  of  you,  sir,  is  that 
were  you  as  great  a  gentleman  as  you  are  a  scoun- 
drel, you  would  be  a  greater  gentleman  than  my 
Lord  Chesterfield.'  Those  were  his  words,  ma'am, 
on  my  oath,  those  were  his  words !  " 

"  But  he  was  a  scoundrel !  "  exclaimed  the  Gov- 
ernor. "  Why,  he  swindled  women,  Major.  It  was 
always  a  mystery  to  me  how  you  tolerated  him." 


98  The  Battle-Ground 

"  And  a  mystery  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot,"  responded 
the  Major,  in  a  half  whisper ;  "  but  as  I  tell  her,  sir, 
you  mustn't  judge  a  man  by  his  company,  or  a  'pos- 
sum by  his  grin."  Then  he  raised  a  well-filled 
glass  and  gave  a  toast  that  brought  even  Mr.  Bill 
upon  his  feet,  "  To  Virginia,  the  home  of  brave 
men  and,"  he  straightened  himself,  tossed  back 
his  hair,  and  bowed  to  the  ladies,  "  and  of 
angels." 

The  Governor  raised  his  glass  with  a  smile.  "  To 
the  angels  who  take  pity  upon  the  men,"  he  said. 

"  That  more  angels  may  take  pity  upon  men," 
added  the  rector,  rising  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside, 
with  a  wink  at  the  doctor. 

And  the  toast  was  drunk,  standing,  while  the 
girls  ran  up  the  crooked  stair  to  lay  aside  their 
wraps  in  a  three-cornered  bedroom. 

As  Virginia  threw  off  her  pink  cloak  and  twirled 
round  in  her  flaring  skirts,  Betty  gave  a  little  gasp 
of  admiration  and  stood  holding  the  lighted  candle, 
with  its  sprig  of  holly,  above  her  head.  The  tall 
girlish  figure,  in  its  flounces  of  organdy  muslin, 
with  the  smooth  parting  of  bright  brown  hair  and 
the  dovelike  eyes,  had  flowered  suddenly  into  a 
beauty  that  took  her  breath  away. 

"  Why,  you  are  a  vision  —  a  vision !  "  she  cried 
delightedly. 

Virginia  stopped  short  in  her  twirling  and  settled 
the  illusion  ruche  over  her  slim  white  shoulders. 
"  It's  the  first  time  I've  dressed  like  this,  you  know," 
she  said,  glancing  at  herself  in  the  dim  old  mirror. 

"  Ah,  I'm  not  half  so  pretty,"  sighed  Betty,  hope- 
lessly.   "  Is  the  rose  in  place,  do  you  think  ?  "    She 


The  Major's  Christmas  99 

had  fastened  a  white  rose  in  the  thick  coil  on  her 
neck,  where  it  lay  half  hidden  by  her  hair. 

"  It  looks  just  lovely,"  replied  Virginia,  heartily. 
"  Do  you  hear  some  one  in  the  drive  ?  "  She  went 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  falling  snow, 
her  bare  shoulders  shrinking  from  the  frosted  pane. 
"  What  a  long  ride  the  boys  have  had,  and  how 
cold  they'll  be.  Why,  the  ground  is  quite  covered 
with  snow."  Betty,  with  the  candle  still  in  her  hand, 
turned  from  the  mirror,  and  gave  a  quick  glance 
through  the  sloping  window,  to  the  naked  elms  out- 
side.   "  Ah,  poor  things,  poor  things !  "  she  cried. 

"  But  they  have  their  riding  cloaks,"  said  Vir- 
ginia, in  her  placid  voice. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  Dan  and  Champe  and  Big 
Abel,"  answered  Betty,  "  I  mean  the  elms,  the  poor 
naked  elms  that  wear  their  clothes  all  summer,  and 
are  stripped  bare  for  the  cold.  How  I  should  like 
to  warm  you,  you  dear  things,"  she  added,  going  to 
the  window.  Against  the  tossing  branches  her 
hair  made  a  glow  of  colour,  and  her  vivid  face  was 
warm  with  tenderness.  "  And  Jane  Lightfoot  rode 
away  on  a  night  like  this !  "  she  whispered  after  a 
pause. 

"  She  wore  a  muslin  dress  and  a  coral  necklace, 
you  know,"  said  Virginia,  in  the  same  low  tone, 
"  and  she  had  only  a  knitted  shawl  over  her  head 
when  she  met  Jack  Mont  joy  at  the  end  of  the  drive. 
He  wrapped  her  in  his  cape,  and  they  rode  like  mad 
to  the  town  —  and  she  was  laughing !  Uncle  Shad- 
rach  met  them  in  the  road,  and  he  says  he  heard 
her  laughing  in  the  wind.  She  must  have  been 
very  wicked,  mustn't  she,  Betty  ?  " 


IOO  The  Battle- Ground 

But  Betty  was  looking  into  the  storm,  and  did 
not  answer.  "  I  wonder  if  he  were  in  the  least  like 
Dan,"  she  murmured  a  moment  later. 

"  Well,  he  had  black  hair,  and  Dan  has  that," 
responded  Virginia,  lightly ;  "  and  he  had  a  square 
chin,  and  Dan  has  that,  too.  Oh,  every  one  says 
that  Dan's  the  image  of  his  father,  except  for  the 
Lightfoot  eyes.  I'm  glad  he  has  the  Lightfoot  eyes, 
anyway.    Are  you  ready  to  go  down  ?  " 

Betty  was  ready,  though  her  face  had  grown  a 
little  grave,  and  with  a  last  look  at  the  glass,  they 
caught  hands  and  went  sedately  down  the  winding 
stair. 

In  the  hall  below  they  met  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  who 
sent  Virginia  into  the  panelled  parlour,  and  bore 
Betty  off  to  the  kitchen  to  taste  the  sauce  for  the 
plum  pudding.  "  I  can't  do  a  thing  on  earth  with 
Rhody,"  she  remarked  uneasily,  throwing  a  knitted 
scarf  over  her  head  as  they  went  from  the  back 
porch  along  the  covered  way  that  led  to  the  brick 
kitchen.  "  She  insists  that  yours  is  the  only  palate 
in  all  the  country  she  will  permit  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  her  sauce.  I  made  the  Major  try  it,  and 
he  thinks  it  needs  a  dash  more  of  rum,  but  Rhody 
says  she  shan't  be  induced  to  change  it  until  she 
has  had  your  advice.  Here,  Rhody,  open  the  door; 
I've  brought  your  young  lady." 

The  door  swung  back  with  a  jerk  upon  the  big 
kitchen,  where  before  the  Christmas  turkeys  toast- 
ing on  the  spit,  Aunt  Rhody  was  striding  to  and 
fro  like  an  Amazon  in  charcoal.  From  the  begin- 
ning of  the  covered  way  they  had  been  guided  by 
the  tones  of  penetrant  contempt,  with  which  she 


The  Major's  Christmas  101 

lashed  the  circle  of  house  servants  who  had  gath- 
ered to  her  assistance.  "  You  des  lemme  alont  now," 
was  the  advice  she  royally  offered.  "  Ef  you  gwine 
ax  me  w'at  you'd  better  do,  I  des  tell  you  right 
now,  you'd  better  lemme  alont.  Ca'line,  you  teck 
yo'  eyes  off  dat  ar  roas'  pig,  er  I'll  fling  dis  yer 
b'ilin'  lard  right  spang  on  you.  I  ain'  gwine  hev 
none  er  my  cookin'  conjured  fo'  my  ve'y  face. 
Congo,  you  shet  dat  mouf  er  yourn,  er  I'll  shet  hit 
wid  er  flat-iron,  en  den  hit'll  be  shet  ter  stay." 

Then,  as  Mrs.  Lightfoot  and  Betty  came  in,  she 
broke  off,  and  wiped  her  large  black  hands  on  her 
apron,  before  she  waved  with  pride  to  the  shelves 
and  tables  bending  beneath  her  various  creations. 
"  I'se  done  stuff  dat  ar  pig  so  full  er  chestnuts  dat 
he's  fitten  ter  bus',"  she  exclaimed  proudly. 
"  Lawd,  Lawd,  hit's  a  pity  he  ain'  'live  agin  des  ter 
tase  hese'f!" 

"  Poor  little  pig,"  said  Betty,  "  he  looks  so 
small  and  pink,  Aunt  Rhody,  I  don't  see  how  you 
have  the  heart  to  roast  him." 

"  I'se  done  stuff  'im  full,"  returned  Aunt  Rhody, 
in  justification. 

"  I  hope  he's  well  done,  Rhody,"  briskly  broke 
in  Mrs.  Lightfoot ;  "  and  be  sure  to  bake  the  hams 
until  the  juice  runs  through  the  bread  crumbs.  Is 
everything  ready  for  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Des  es  ready  es  ef  'twuz  fer  Kingdom  Come, 
Ole  Miss,  en  dar  ain'  gwine  be  no  better  dinner  on 
Jedgment  Day  nurr,  I  don'  cyar  who  gwine  cook 
hit.  You  des  tase  dis  yer  sass  —  dat's  all  I  ax,  you 
des  tase  dis  yer  sass." 

"You  taste  it,  Betty,"  begged  Mrs.   Lightfoot, 


102  The  Battle- Ground 

shrinking  from  the  approaching  spoon ;  and  Betty 
tasted  and  pronounced  it  excellent,  "  and  there  never 
was  an  Ambler  who  wasn't  a  judge  of  ■  sass,'  "  she 
added. 

Moved  by  the  compliment,  Aunt  Rhody  fell  back 
and  regarded  the  girl,  with  her  arms  akimbo.  "  I 
d'clar,  her  eyes  do  des  shoot  fire,"  she  exclaimed 
admiringly.  "  I  dunno  whar  de  beaux  done  hid 
deyse'ves  dese  days;  hit's  a  wonner  dey  ain'  des 
a-busin'  dey  sides  ter  git  yer.  Marse  Dan,  now, 
whynt  he  come  a-prancin'  roun'  dese  yer  parts  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  looked  at  Betty  and  saw  her 
colour  rise.  "  That  will  do,  Rhody,"  she  cautioned ; 
"  you  will  let  the  turkeys  burn,"  but  as  they  moved 
toward  the  door,  Betty  herself  paused  and  looked 
back. 

"  I  gave  your  Christmas  gift  to  Uncle  Cupid, 
Aunt  Rhody,"  she  said;  "  he  put  it  under  the  joists 
in  your  cabin,  so  you  mustn't  look  at  it  till  morning." 

"  Lawd,  chile,  I'se  done  got  Christmas  gifts  afo* 
now,"  replied  Aunt  Rhody,  ungratefully,  "  en  I'se 
done  got  a  pa'cel  er  no  count  ones,  too.  Folks  dey 
give  Christmas  gifts  same  es  de  Lawd  he  give  chil- 
lun  —  dey  des  han's  out  w'at  dey'e  got  on  dey 
han's,  wid  no  stiddyin'  'bout  de  tase.  Sakes  er  live ! 
Ef'n  de  Lawd  hadn't  hed  a  plum  sight  ter  git  rid  er, 
he  'ouldn't  er  sont  Ca'line  all  dose  driblets,  fo'  he'd 
done  sont  'er  a  husban'." 

"  Husban',  huh !  "  exclaimed  Ca'line,  with  a  snort 
from  the  fireplace.  "  Husban'  yo'se'f !  No  mo' 
niggerisms  fer  me,  ma'am !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Ca'line,"  said  Mrs.,  Light- 
foot,    sternly ;     "  and,    Rhody,   you    ought   to   be 


The  Major's  Christmas  103 

ashamed  of  yourself  to  talk  so  before  your  Miss 
Betty." 

"  Husban',  huh !  "  repeated  the  indignant  Ca'line, 
under  her  breath. 

"  Hold  your  tongues,  both  of  you,"  cried  the  old 
lady,  as  she  lifted  her  silk  skirt  in  both  hands  and 
swept  from  the  kitchen. 

When  they  reached  the  house  again,  they  heard 
the  Major's  voice,  on  its  highest  key,  demanding: 
"  Molly !  Why,  bless  my  soul,  what's  become  of 
Molly  ?  "  He  was  calling  from  the  front  steps,  and 
the  sound  of  tramping  feet  rang  in  the  drive  below. 
Against  the  whiteness  of  the  storm  Big  Abel's  face 
shone  in  the  light  from  the  open  door,  and  about 
him,  as  he  held  the  horses,  Dan  and  Champe  and  a 
guest  or  two  were  dismounting  upon  the  steps. 

As  the  old  lady  went  forward,  Champe  rushed 
into  the  hall,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  On  my  word,  you're  so  young  I  didn't  know 
you,"  he  cried  gayly.  "  If  you  keep  this  up,  Aunt 
Molly,  there'll  be  a  second  Lightfoot  beauty  yet. 
You  grow  prettier  every  day  —  I  declare  you  do !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  scamp,"  said  the  old 
lady,  flushing  with  pleasure,  "  or  there'll  be  a  second 
Ananias  as  well.  Here,  Betty,  come  and  wish  this 
bad  boy  a  Merry  Christmas." 

Betty  looked  round  with  a  smile,  but  as  she  did  so, 
her  eyes  went  beyond  Champe,  and  saw  Dan  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  his  soft  slouch  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  a  powdering  of  snow  on  his  dark  hair.  He  had 
grown  bigger  and  older  in  the  last  few  months, 
and  the  Lightfoot  eyes,  with  the  Lightfoot  twinkle 
in   their   pupils,    gave   an    expression    of   careless 


104  The  Battle-Ground 

humour  to  his  pale,  strongly  moulded  face.  The 
same  humour  was  in  his  voice  even  as  he  held  his 
grandfather's  hand. 

"  By  George,  we're  glad  to  get  here,"  was  his 
greeting.  "  Morson's  been  cursing  our  hospitality 
for  the  last  three  miles.  Grandpa,  this  is  my  friend 
Morson  —  Jack  Morson,  you've  heard  me  speak 
of  him;  and  this  is  Bland  Diggs,  you  know  of 
him,  too." 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the  Major, 
heartily,  as  he  held  out  both  hands.  "  You're  wel- 
come, gentlemen,  as  welcome  as  Christmas  —  what 
more  can  I  say?  But  come  in,  come  in  to  the  fire. 
Cupid,  the  glasses !  " 

"  Ah,  the  ladies  first,"  suggested  Dan,  lightly ; 
"  grace  before  meat,  you  know.  So  here  you  are, 
grandma,  cap  and  all.  And  Virginia;  —  ye  gods! 
—  is  this  little  Virginia?" 

His  laughing  eyes  were  on  her  as  she  stood,  tall 
and  lovely,  beneath  a  Christmas  garland,  and  with 
the  laughter  still  in  them,  they  blazed  with  approval 
of  her  beauty.  "  Oh,  but  do  you  know,  how 
did  you  do  it?"  he  demanded  with  his  blithe  confi- 
dence, as  if  it  mattered  very  little  how  his  words 
were  met. 

"  It  wasn't  any  trouble,  believe  me,"  responded 
Virginia,  blushing,  "  not  half  so  much  trouble  as 
you  took  to  tie  your  neckerchief." 

Dan's  hand  went  to  his  throat.  "  Then  I  may 
presume  that  it  is  mere  natural  genius,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Genius,  to  grow  tall  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,  just  that  —  to  grow  tall,"  then  he 


The  Major's  Christmas  105 

caught  sight  of  Betty,  and  held  out  his  hand  again. 
"  And  you,  little  comrade,  you  haven't  grown  up 
to  the  world,  I  see." 

Betty  laughed  and  looked  him  over  with  the 
smile  the  Major  loved.  "  I  content  myself  with 
merely  growing  up  to  you,"  she  returned. 

"  Up  to  me  ?  Why,  you  barely  reach  my 
shoulder." 

"  Well,  up  to  the  greater  part  of  you,  at  least." 

"  Ah,  up  to  my  heart,"  said  Dan,  and  Betty  col- 
oured beneath  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

The  colour  was  still  in  her  face  when  the  Major 
came  out,  with  Mrs.  Ambler  on  his  arm,  and  led 
the  way  to  supper. 

"  All  of  us  are  hungry,  and  some  of  us  have  a 
day's  ride  behind  us,"  he  remarked,  as,  after  the 
rector's  grace,  he  stood  waving  the  carving-knife 
above  the  roasted  turkey.  "  I'd  like  to  know  how 
often  during  the  last  hour  you've  thought  of  this 
turkey,  Mr.  Morson?" 

"  It  has  had  a  fair  share  of  my  thoughts,  I'm 
forced  to  admit,  Major,"  responded  Jack  Morson, 
readily.  He  was  a  hearty,  light-haired  young  fellow, 
with  a  girlish  complexion  and  pale  blue  eyes,  as 
round  as  marbles.  "  As  fair  a  share  as  the  apple 
toddy  has  had  of  Diggs's,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Apple  toddy !  "  protested  Diggs,  turning  his 
serious  face,  flushed  from  the  long  ride,  upon  the 
Major.  "  I  was  too  busy  thinking  we  should  never 
get  here;  and  we  were  lost  once,  weren't  we, 
Beau  ?  "  he  asked  of  Dan. 

"  Well,  I  for  one  am  safely  housed  for  the  night, 
doctor,"  declared  the  rector,  with  an  uneasy  glance 


io6  The  Battle-Ground 

through  the  window,  "  and  I  trust  that  Mrs.  Blake's 
reproach  will  melt  before  the  snow  does.  But 
what's  that  about  being  lost,  Dan  ? " 

"  Oh,  we  got  off  the  road,"  replied  Dan ;  "  but  I 
gave  Prince  Rupert  the  rein  and  he  brought  us  in. 
The  sense  that  horse  has  got  makes  me  fairly- 
ashamed  of  going  to  college  in  his  place;  and  I 
may  as  well  warn  you,  Mr.  Blake  ihat  when  I  get 
ready  to  go  to  Heaven,  I  shan't  seek  your  guidance 
at  all  —  I'll  merely  nose  Prince  Rupert  at  the  Bible 
and  give  him  his  head." 

"  It's  a  comfort  to  know,  at  least,  that  you  won't  be 
trusting  to  your  own  deserts,  my  boy,"  responded 
the  rector,  who  dearly  loved  his  joke,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  yellow  pickle. 

"  Let  us  hope  that  the  straight  and  narrow  way 
is  a  little  clearer  than  the  tavern  road  to-night," 
said  Champe.  "  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  trouble  get- 
ting back,  Governor." 

"  Afraid !  "  took  up  the  Major,  before  the  Gov- 
ernor could  reply.  "  Why,  where  are  your  man- 
ners, my  lad  ?  It  will  be  no  ill  wind  that  keeps  them 
beneath  our  roof.  We'll  make  room  for  you,  ladies, 
never  fear;  the  house  will  stretch  itself  to  fit  the 
welcome,  eh,  Molly  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot,  looking  a  little  anxious,  put  for- 
ward a  hearty  assent ;  but  the  Governor  laughed  and 
threw  back  the  Major's  hospitality  as  easily  as  it 
was  proffered. 

"  I  know  that  your  welcome's  big  enough  to 
hold  us,  my  dear  Major,"  he  said ;  "  but  Hosea's 
driving  us,  you  see,  and  he  could  take  us  along  the 
turnpike  blindfold.     Why,  he  actually  discovered 


The  Major's  Christmas  107 

in  passing  just  before  the  storm  that  somebody  had 
dug  up  a  sugar  berry  bush  from  the  corner  of 
your  old  rail  fence." 

"  And  we  really  must  get  back,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Ambler,  "  we  haven't  even  fixed  the  servants' 
Christmas,  and  Betty  has  to  fill  the  stockings  for  the 
children  in  the  quarters." 

"  Then  if  you  will  go,  go  you  shall,"  cried  the 
Major,  as  heartily  as  he  had  pressed  his  invitation. 
"  You  shall  get  back,  ma'am,  if  I  have  to  go  before 
you  with  a  shovel  and  clear  the  snow  away.  So 
just  a  bit  more  of  this  roast  pig,  just  a  bit,  Gov- 
ernor. My  dear  Miss  Lydia,  I  beg  you  to  try  that 
spiced  beef  —  and  you,  Mr.  Bill  ?  —  Cupid,  Mr.  Bill 
will  have  a  piece  of  roast  pig." 

By  the  time  the  Tokay  was  opened,  the  Major 
had  grown  very  jolly,  and  he  began  to  exchange 
jokes  with  the  Governor  and  the  rector.  Mr.  Bill 
and  the  doctor,  neither  of  whom  could  have  told  a 
story  for  his  life,  listened  with  a  kind  of  heavy 
gravity;  and  the  young  men,  as  they  rattled  off  a 
college  tale  or  two,  kept  their  eyes  on  Betty  and 
Virginia. 

Betty,  leaning  back  in  her  high  mahogany  chair, 
and  now  and  then  putting  in  a  word  with  the  bright 
effusion  which  belonged  to  her,  gave  ear  half  to 
the  Major's  anecdotes,  and  half  to  a  jest  of  Jack 
Morson's.  Before  her  branched  a  silver  candela- 
brum, and  beyond  it,  with  the  light  in  his  face,  Dan 
was  sitting.  She  watched  him  with  a  frank  curios- 
ity from  eyes,  where  the  smile,  with  which  she 
had  answered  the  Major,  still  lingered  in  a  gleam 
of  merriment.    There  was  a  puzzled  wonder  in  her 


108  The  Battle-Ground 

mind  that  Dan  —  the  Dan  of  her  childhood  — * 
should  have  become  for  her,  of  a  sudden,  but  a 
strong,  black-haired  stranger  from  whom  she  shrank 
with  a  swift  timidity.  She  looked  at  Champe's  high 
blue- veined  forehead  and  curling  brown  hair;  he 
was  still  the  big  boy  she  had  played  with ;  but  when 
she  went  back  to  Dan,  the  wonder  returned  with  a 
kind  of  irritation,  and  she  felt  that  she  should  like 
to  shake  him  and  have  it  out  between  them  as  she 
used  to  do  before  he  went  away.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  it?  Where  the  difference?  As  he  sat 
across  from  her,  with  his  head  thrown  back  and  his 
eyes  dark  with  laughter,  her  look  questioned  him 
half  humorously,  half  in  alarm.  From  his  broad 
brow  to  his  strong  hand,  playing  idly  with  a  little 
heap  of  bread  crumbs,  she  knew  that  she  was  con- 
scious of  his  presence  —  with  a  consciousness  that 
had  quickened  into  a  living  thing. 

To  Dan,  himself,  her  gaze  brought  but  the 
knowledge  that  her  smile  was  upon  him,  and  he 
met  her  question  with  lifted  eyebrows  and  per- 
plexed amusement.  What  he  had  once  called  "  the 
Betty  look  "  was  in  her  face,  —  so  kind  a  look, 
so  earnest  yet  so  humorous,  with  a  sweet  sane 
humour  at  her  own  bewilderment,  that  it  held 
his  eyes  an  instant  before  they  plunged  back  to 
Virginia  —  an  instant  only,  but  long  enough  for 
him  to  feel  the  thrill  of  an  impulse  which  he  did 
not  understand.  Dear  little  Betty,  he  thought,  ten- 
derly, and  went  back  to  her  sister. 

The  next  moment  he  was  telling  himself  that  "  the 
girl  was  a  tearing  beauty."  He  liked  that  modest 
droop  of  her  head  and  those  bashful  soft  eyes,  as 


The  Major's  Christmas  109 

if,  by  George,  as  if  she  were  really  afraid  of  him. 
Or  was  it  Champe  or  Jack  Morson  that  she  bent 
her  bewitching  glance  upon?  Well,  Champe,  or 
Morson,  or  himself,  in  a  week  they  would  all  be 
over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her,  and  let  him  win 
who  might.  It  was  mere  folly,  of  course,  to  break 
one's  heart  over  a  girl,  and  there  was  no  chance  of 
that  so  long  as  he  had  his  horses  and  the  bull  pups 
to  fall  back  upon ;  but  she  was  deucedly  pretty, 
and  if  he  ever  came  to  the  old  house  to  live  it  would 
be  rather  jolly  to  have  her  about.  He  would  be 
twenty-one  by  this  time  next  year,  and  a  man  of 
twenty-one  was  old  enough  to  settle  down  a  bit.  In 
the  meantime  he  laughed  and  met  Virginia's  eye, 
and  they  both  blushed  and  looked  away  quickly. 

But  when  they  left  the  dining  room  an  hour  later, 
it  was  not  Virginia  that  Dan  sought.  He  had 
learned  the  duties  of  hospitality  in  the  Major's 
school,  and  so  he  sat  down  beside  Miss  Lydia  and 
asked  her  about  her  window  garden,  while  Jack 
Morson  made  desperate  love  to  his  beautiful  neigh- 
bour. Once,  indeed,  he  drew  Betty  aside  for  an  in- 
stant, but  it  was  only  to  whisper :  "  Look  here,  you'll 
be  real  nice  to  Diggs,  won't  you?  He's  bashful, 
you  know,  and  besides  he's  awfully  poor,  and  works 
like  the  devil.  You  make  him  enjoy  his  holidays, 
and  I  —  well,  yes,  I'll  let  that  fox  get  away  next 
week,  I  declare  I  will." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Betty,  "  it's  a  bargain.  Mr. 
Diggs  shall  have  a  merry  Christmas,  and  the  fox 
shall  have  his  life.     You'll  keep  faith  with  me?" 

"  Sworn,"  said  Dan,  and  he  went  back  to  Miss 
Lydia,  while  Betty  danced  a  reel  with  young  Diggs, 


no  The  Battle-Ground 

who  fell  in  love  with  her  before  he  was  an  hour 
older.  The  terms  cost  him  his  heart,  perhaps,  but 
there  was  a  life  at  stake,  and  Betty,  who  had  not  a 
touch  of  the  coquette  in  her  nature,  would  have 
flirted  open-eyed  with  the  rector  could  she  have 
saved  a  robin  from  the  shot.  As  for  Diggs,  he  might 
have  been  a  family  portrait  or  a  Christmas  garland 
for  all  the  sentiment  she  gave  him. 

When  she  went  upstairs  some  hours  later  to  put 
on  her  wraps,  she  had  forgotten,  indeed,  that  Diggs 
or  his  emotion  was  in  existence.  She  tied  on  her 
blue  hood  with  the  swan's-down,  and  noticed,  as  she 
did  so,  that  the  white  rose  was  gone  from  her  hair. 
"  I  hope  I  lost  it  after  supper,"  she  thought  rather 
wistfully,  for  it  was  becoming ;  and  then  she  slipped 
into  her  long  cloak  and  started  down  again.  It  was 
not  until  she  reached  the  bend  in  the  staircase,  where 
the  tall  clock  stood,  that  she  looked  over  the  balus- 
trade and  saw  Dan  in  the  hall  below  with  the  white 
rose  in  his  hand. 

She  had  come  so  softly  that  he  had  not  heard  her 
step.  The  light  from  the  candelabra  was  full  upon 
him,  and  she  saw  the  half-tender,  half-quizzical  look 
in  his  face.  For  an  instant  he  held  the  white  rose 
beneath  his  eyes,  then  he  carefully  folded  it  in  his 
handkerchief  and  hid  it  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 
As  he  did  so,  he  gave  a  queer  little  laugh  and  went 
quickly  back  into  the  panelled  parlour,  while  Betty 
glowed  like  a  flower  in  the  darkened  bend  of  the 
staircase. 

When  they  called  her  and  she  came  down  the 
bright  colour  was  still  in  her  face,  and  her  eyes  were 
shining  happily  under  the  swan's-down  border  of 


The  Major's  Christmas  in 

her  hood.  "  This  little  lady  isn't  afraid  of  the  cold," 
said  the  Major,  as  he  pinched  her  cheeks.  "  Why, 
she's  as  warm  as  a  toast,  and,  bless  my  soul,  if  I 
were  thirty  years  younger,  I'd  ride  twenty  miles  to- 
night to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  in  that  bonny  blue 
hood.    Ah,  in  my  day,  men  were  men,  sir." 

Dan,  who  had  come  back  from  escorting  Miss 
Lydia  to  the  carriage,  laughed  and  held  out  his 
arms. 

"  Let  me  carry  you,  Betty ;  I'll  show  grandpa 
that  there's  still  a  man  alive." 

"  No,  sir,  no,"  said  Betty,  as  she  stood  on  tiptoe 
and  held  her  cheek  to  the  Major.  "  You  haven't  a 
chance  when  your  grandfather's  by.  There,  I'll  let 
you  carry  the  sleeping  draught  for  Aunt  Pussy; 
but  my  flounces,  no,  never !  "  and  she  ran  past  him 
and  slipped  into  the  carriage  beside  Mrs.  Ambler 
and  Miss  Lydia. 

In  a  moment  Virginia  came  out  under  an  umbrella 
that  was  held  by  Jack  Morson,  and  the  carriage 
rolled  slowly  along  the  drive,  while  the  young 
men  stood,  bareheaded,  in  the  falling  snow. 

"  Keep  a  brave  heart,  Morson,"  said  Champe,  with 
a  laugh,  as  he  ran  back  into  the  house,  where  the 
Major  waited  to  bar  the  door,  "  remember,  you've 
known  her  but  three  hours,  and  stand  it  like  a  man. 
Well  I'm  off  to  bed,"  and  he  lighted  his  candle  and, 
with  a  gay  "  good  night,"  went  whistling  up  the 
stair. 

In  Dan's  bedroom,  where  he  had  crowded  for  the 
holidays,  he  found  his  cousin,  upon  the  hearth-rug, 
looking  abstractedly  into  the  flames. 

As  Champe  entered  he  turned,  with  the  poker  in 


112  The  Battle-Ground 

his  hand,  and  spoke  out  of  the  fulness  of  his 
heart :  — 

"  She's  a  beauty,  I  declare  she  is." 

Champe  broke  short  his  whistling,  and  threw  off 
his  coat. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  she  was  fifty  years  ago,"  he  re- 
joined gravely. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  an  utter  ass ;  you  know  I  mean 
Virginia." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  had  supposed  Miss  Lydia  to 
be  the  object  of  your  attentions.  You  mustn't  be 
a  Don  Juan,  you  know,  you  really  mustn't.  Spare 
the  sex,  I  entreat." 

Dan  aimed  a  blow  at  him  with  a  boot  that  was 
lying  on  the  rug.  "  Shut  up,  won't  you,"  he 
growled. 

"  Well,  Virginia  is  a  beauty,"  was  Champe's  ami- 
able response.  "  Jack  Morson  swears  Aunt  Emme- 
line's  picture  can't  touch  her.  He's  writing  to  his 
father  now,  I  don't  doubt,  to  say  he  can't  live  with- 
out her.     Go  down,  and  he'll  read  you  the  letter." 

Dan's  face  grew  black.  "  I'll  thank  him  to  mind 
his  own  business,"  he  grumbled. 

"  Oh,  he  thinks  he's  doing  it." 

"  Well,  his  business  isn't  either  of  the  Ambler 
girls,  and  I'll  have  him  to  know  it.  What  right  has 
he  got,  I'd  like  to  know,  to  come  up  here  and  fall 
in  love  with  our  neighbours." 

"  Oh,  Beau,  Beau !  Why,  it  was  only  last  week 
you  ran  him  away  from  Batt  Horsford's  daughter. 
Are  you  going  in  for  a  general  championship  ?  " 

"  The  devil !  Sally  Horsford's  a  handsome  girl, 
and  a  good  girl,  too;   and  I'll  fight  any  man  who 


The  Major's  Christmas  113 

says  she  isn't.  By  George,  a  woman's  a  woman,  if 
she  is  a  stableman's  daughter !  " 

"  Bravo !  "  cried  Champe,  with  a  whistle,  "  there 
spoke  the  Lightfoot." 

"  She's  a  good  girl,"  repeated  Dan,  furiously, 
as  he  flung  the  other  boot  at  his  cousin.  Champe 
caught  the  boot,  and  carefully  set  it  beside  the  door. 
"  Well,  she's  welcome  to  be,  as  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned," he  replied  calmly.  "  Turn  not  your  speak- 
ing eye  upon  me.  I  harbour  no  dark  intent,  Sir 
Galahad." 

"  Damn  Sir  Galahad !  "  said  Dan,  and  blew  out 
the  light. 


II 

BETTY  DREAMS  BY  THE   FIRE 

Betty,  lying  back  in  the  deep  old  carriage  as  ii 
rolled  through  the  storm,  felt  a  glow  at  her  heart 
as  if  a  lamp  were  burning  there,  shut  in  from  the 
night.  Above  the  wind  and  the  groaning  of  the 
wheels,  she  heard  Hosea  calling  to  the  horses,  but 
the  sound  reached  her  through  muffled  ears. 

"  Git  along  dar !  "  cried  Hosea,  with  sudden  spirit, 
"  dar  ain'  no  oats  dis  side  er  home,  en  dar  am' 
no  co'n,  nurr.  Git  along  dar!  'Tain'  no  use 
a-mincin'.    Git  along  dar !  " 

The  snow  beat  softly  on  the  windows,  and  the 
Governor's  profile  was  relieved,  fine  and  straight, 
against  the  frosted  glass.  "  Are  you  asleep, 
daughter?"  he  asked,  turning  to  where  the  girl  lay 
in  her  dark  corner. 

"  Asleep ! "  She  came  back  with  a  start,  and 
caught  his  hand  above  the  robe  in  her  demon- 
strative way.  "  Why,  who  can  sleep  on  Christmas 
Eve?  there's  too  much  to  do,  isn't  there,  mamma? 
Twenty  stockings  to  fill  and  I  don't  know  how 
many  bundles  to  tie  up.  Oh,  no,  I  shan't  sleep  to- 
night." 

"  We  might  get  up  early  to-morrow  and  do  them," 
suggested  Virginia,  nodding  in  her  pink  hood. 

"4 


Betty  Dreams  by  the  Fire  115 

"  You,  at  least,  must  go  to  bed,  dear,"  insisted 
Mrs.  Ambler.     "  Betty  and  I  will  fix  the  things." 

"  Indeed,  you  shall  go  to  bed,  mamma,"  said  Betty, 
sternly.  "  Papa  and  I  shall  make  Christmas  this 
year.    You'll  help  me,  won't  you,  papa  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  my- 
self," returned  the  Governor ;  "  I  wasn't  born  to 
be  the  father  of  a  Betty  for  nothing." 

"  Get  along  dar !  "  sang  out  Hosea  again.  '  'Tain' 
no  use  a-mincin',  gemmun.  Dar  ain'  no  fiddlin' 
roun'.     Git  along  dar !  " 

Miss  Lydia  had  fallen  asleep,  with  her  head  on 
her  breast,  but  the  sound  aroused  her,  and  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  sat  up  very  straight. 

"  Why,  I  declare  I'd  almost  dropped  off,"  she 
said.     "  Are  we  nearly  there,  Peyton  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  the  Governor,  "  but  the 
snow's  so  thick  I  can't  see ;  "  he  opened  the  window 
and  put  out  his  head.  "  Are  we  nearly  there, 
Hosea?" 

"  We  des  done  pas'  de  clump  er  cedars,  suh," 
yelled  Hosea  through  the  storm.  "  I'ud  a  knowd 
'em  ef  dey'd  come  a-struttin'  down  de  road  —  dey 
cyarn  fool  me.  Den  we  got  ter  pas'  de  wil'  cher'y 
and  de  gap  in  de  fence,  en  dar  we  are." 

"  Yes,  we're  nearly  there,"  said  the  Governor,  as 
he  drew  in  his  head,  and  Miss  Lydia  slept  again 
until  the  carriage  turned  into  the  drive  and  stopped 
before  the  portico. 

Uncle  Shadrach,  in  the  open  doorway,  was  grin- 
ning with  delight.  "  Ef'n  de  snow  had  er  kep'  you, 
dar  'ouldn't  a  been  no  Christmas  for  de  res'  er  us," 
he  declared. 


n6  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  the  snow  couldn't  keep  us,  Shadrach," 
returned  the  Governor,  as  he  gave  him  his  over- 
coat, and  set  himself  to  unfastening  his  wife's 
wraps.  "  We  were  too  anxious  to  get  home. 
There,  Julia,  you  go  to  bed,  and  leave  Betty 
and  myself  to  manage  things.  Don't  say  I  can't 
do  it.  I  tell  you  I've  been  Governor  of  Virginia, 
and  I'll  not  be  daunted  by  an  empty  stocking. 
Now  go  away,  and  you,  too,  Virginia  —  you're 
as  sleepy  as  a  kitten.  Miss  Lydia,  shall  I  take 
Mrs.  Lightfoot's  mixture  to  Miss  Pussy,  or  will 
you?" 

Miss  Lydia  took  the  pitcher,  and  Betty  put  her 
arm  about  her  mother  and  led  her  upstairs,  holding 
her  hand  and  kissing  it  as  she  went.  She  was  al- 
ways lavish  with  little  ways  of  love,  but  to-night 
she  felt  tenderer  than  ever  —  she  felt  that  she  should 
like  to  take  the  world  in  her  arms  and  hold  it  to  her 
bosom.  "  Dearest,  sweetest,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
was  full  and  tremulous,  though  still  with  its  crisp 
brightness  of  tone.  It  was  as  if  she  caressed  with 
her  whole  being,  with  those  hidden  possibilities 
of  passion  which  troubled  her  yet,  only  as  the  vibra- 
tion of  strong  music,  making  her  joy  pensive  and 
her  sadness  sweet.  She  felt  that  she  was  walking 
in  a  pleasant  and  vivid  dream ;  she  was  happy,  she 
could  not  tell  why;  nor  could  she  tell  why  she 
was  sorrowful. 

In  Mrs.  Ambler's  room  they  found  Mammy 
Riah,  awaiting  her  mistress's  return. 

"  Put  her  to  bed,  Mammy,"  she  said ;  "  she  is 
all  chilled  by  the  drive,"  and  she  gave  her  mother 
over  to  the  old  negress,  and  ran  down  again  to  the 


Betty  Dreams  by  the  Fire  117 

dining  room,  where  the  Governor  was  standing 
surrounded  by  the  Christmas  litter. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  straighten  out  all  these  things, 
daughter  ?  "  he  asked  hopelessly. 

"  Why,  there's  hardly  anything  left  to  do," 
was  Betty's  cheerful  assurance.  "  You  just  sit 
down  at  the  table  and  put  the  nuts  into  the  toes 
of  those  stockings,  and  I'll  count  out  these  print 
frocks." 

The  Governor  obediently  sat  down  and  went  to 
work.  "  I  am  moved  to  offer  thanks  that  we  are  not 
as  the  beasts  that  have  four  legs,"  he  remarked 
thoughtfully.  "  I  shouldn't  care  to  fill  stockings  for 
quadrupeds,  Betty." 

"  Why,  you  goose,  there's  only  one  stocking  for 
each  child." 

"  Ah,  but  with  four  feet  our  expectations  might 
be  doubled,"  suggested  the  Governor.  "  You  can't 
convince  me  that  it  isn't  a  merciful  providence,  my 
dear." 

When  the  stockings  were  rilled  and  the  packages 
neatly  tied  up  and  separated,  Uncle  Shadrach  came 
with  a  hamper,  and  Betty  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to 
prepare  for  the  morning  gathering  of  the  field  hands 
and  their  families.  Returning  after  the  work  was 
over,  she  lingered  a  moment  in  the  path  to  the 
house,  looking  far  across  the  white  country.  The 
snow  had  ceased,  and  a  single  star  was  shining, 
through  a  rift  in  the  scudding  clouds,  straight 
overhead.  From  the  northwest  the  wind  blew  hard, 
and  the  fleecy  covering  on  the  ground  was  fast 
freezing  a  foot  deep  in  ice.  With  a  shiver  she  drew 
her  cloak  about  her  and  ran  indoors  and  upstairs 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 6 


n8  The  Battle-Ground 

to  where  Virginia  lay  asleep  in  the  high,  white 
bed. 

In  the  great  brick  fireplace  the  logs  had  fallen 
apart,  and  she  softly  pushed  them  together  again  as 
she  threw  on  a  knot  of  resinous  pine.  The  blaze 
shot  up  quickly,  and  blowing  out  the  candle  upon 
the  bureau,  she  undressed  by  the  firelight,  crooning 
gently  as  she  did  so  in  a  voice  that  was  lower  than 
the  singing  flames.  With  the  glow  on  her  bared 
arms  and  her  hair  unbound  upon  her  shoulders,  she 
sat  close  against  the  chimney;  and  while  Virginia 
slept  in  the  tester  bed,  went  dreaming  out  into  the 
night. 

At  first  her  dreams  went  back  into  her  childhood, 
and  somehow,  she  knew  not  why,  she  could  not 
bring  back  her  childhood  but  Dan  came  with  it.  She 
fancied  herself  in  all  kinds  of  impossible  places, 
but  she  had  no  sooner  got  safely  into  them  than  she 
looked  up  and  Dan  was  there  before  her,  standing 
very  still  and  laughing  at  her  with  his  eyes.  It 
was  the  same  thing  even  when  she  was  a  baby.  Her 
earliest  memory  was  of  a  May  morning  when  they 
took  her  out  into  a  field  of  buttercups,  and  told 
her  that  she  might  pluck  her  arms  full  if  she  could, 
and  then,  as  she  stretched  out  her  little  hands  and 
began  to  gather  very  fast,  she  looked  across  to  where 
the  waving  yellow  buttercups  stood  up  against  the 
blue  spring  sky.  That  memory  had  always  been 
her  own  before;  but  now,  when  she  went  back 
to  it,  she  knew  that  all  the  time  she  had  been 
gathering  buttercups  for  Dan.  And  she  had  plucked 
faster  and  faster  only  that  she  might  have  a  bigger 
bunch  for  him  when  the  gathering  was  done.    She 


Betty  Dreams  by  the  Fire  119 

saw  herself  working  bonnetless  in  the  sunshine, 
her  baby  face  red,  her  lips  breathless,  working 
so  hard,  she  did  not  know  for  whom.  Oh,  how 
funny  that  he  should  have  been  somewhere  all  the 
time! 

And  again  on  the  day  when  they  gave  her  her 
first  doll,  and  she  let  it  fall  and  cried  her  heart  out 
over  its  broken  pink  face.  She  knew,  at  last,  that 
somewhere  in  that  ugly  town  Dan  had  dropped  his 
toy;  and  it  was  for  that  she  was  crying,  not  for  her 
own  poor  doll.  Yes,  all  her  life  she  had  had  two 
griefs  to  weep  for,  and  two  joys  to  be  glad  over. 
She  had  been  really  a  double  self  from  her  babyhood 
up  —  from  her  babyhood  up!  It  had  been  always 
up,  up,  up  —  like  a  lark  that  rises  to  the  sun.  She 
had  all  her  life  been  rising  to  the  sun,  and  she  was 
warmed  at  last. 

Then  she  asked  herself  if  it  were  happiness,  after 
all,  this  new  restlessness  of  hers.  The  melancholy 
of  the  early  spring  was  there  —  the  roving  impulse 
that  comes  on  April  afternoons  when  the  first  buds 
are  on  the  trees  and  the  air  is  keen  with  the  smell 
of  the  newly  turned  earth.  She  felt  that  it  was 
time  for  the  spring  to  come  again;  she  wanted  to 
walk  alone  in  the  woods  and  to  watch  the  swallows 
flying  from  the  north.  And  again  she  wanted  only 
to  lie  close  upon  the  hearth  and  to  hear  the  flames 
leap  up  the  chimney.  One  of  her  selves  cried  to 
be  up  and  roaming;  the  other  to  turn  over  on  the 
rug  and  sleep  again. 

But  gradually  her  thoughts  returned  to  him,  and 
she  went  over,  bit  by  bit,  what  he  had  said  last  even- 
ing, asking  herself  if  he  had  meant  much  at  this 


no  The  Battle-Ground 

time,  or  little  at  another.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  found  new  meanings  now  in  things  that  she  had 
once  overlooked.  She  read  words  in  his  eyes  which 
he  had  never  spoken ;  and,  one  by  one,  she  brought 
back  each  sentence,  each  look,  each  gesture,  hold- 
ing it  up  to  her  remembrance,  and  laying  it  aside 
to  give  place  to  the  next.  Oh,  there  were  so  many, 
so  many! 

And  then  from  the  past  her  dreams  went  groping 
out  into  the  future,  becoming  dimmer,  and  shaping 
themselves  into  unreal  forms.  Scattered  visions 
came  drifting  through  her  mind,  —  of  herself  in  ro- 
mantic adventures,  and  of  Dan  —  always  of  Dan  — 
appearing  like  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale, 
at  the  perilous  moment.  She  saw  herself 
on  the  breast  of  a  great  river,  borne,  while 
she  stretched  her  hands  at  a  white  rose-bush 
blooming  in  the  clouds,  to  a  cataract  which  she 
could  not  see,  though  she  heard  its  thunder  far 
ahead.  She  tried  to  call,  but  no  sound  came,  for 
the  water  filled  her  mouth.  The  river  went  on  and 
on,  and  the  falling  of  the  cataract  was  in  her  ears, 
when  she  felt  Dan's  arm  about  her,  and  saw  his  eyes 
laughing  at  her  above  the  waters. 

"  Betty !  "  called  Virginia,  suddenly,  rising  on 
her  elbow  and  rubbing  her  eyes.  "  Betty,  is  it 
morning  ?  " 

Betty  awoke  with  a  cry,  and  stood  up  in  the  fire- 
light. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  yet,"  she  answered. 

"What  are  you  doing?  Aren't  you  coming  to 
bed?" 

"I  —  I    was    just   thinking,"    stammered   Betty, 


Betty  Dreams  by  the  Fire  iai 

twisting  her  hair  into  a  rope ;  "  yes,  I'm  coming 
now,"  and  she  crossed  the  room  and  climbed  into 
the  bed  beside  her  sister. 

"  I  believe  I  fell  asleep  by  the  fire,"  she  said,  as 
she  turned  over. 


Ill 


DAN   AND   BETTY 


On  the  last  day  of  the  year  the  young  men  from 
Chericoke,  as  they  rode  down  the  turnpike,  came 
upon  Betty  bringing  holly  berries  from  the  wood. 
She  was  followed  by  two  small  negroes  laden  with 
branches,  and  beside  her  ran  her  young  setters, 
Peyton  and  Bill. 

As  Dan  came  up  with  her,  he  checked  his  horse 
and  swung  himself  to  the  ground.  "  Thank  God 
I've  passed  the  boundary !  "  he  exclaimed  over  his 
shoulder  to  the  others.  "  Ride  on,  my  lads,  ride  on ! 
Don't  prate  of  the  claims  of  hospitality  to  me.  My 
foot  is  on  my  neighbours'  heath;  I'm  host  to  no 
man." 

"  Come,  now,  Beau,"  remonstrated  Jack  Morson, 
looking  down  from  his  saddle ;  "  I  see  in  Miss 
Betty's  eyes  that  she  wants  me  to  carry  that  holly 
—  I  swear  I  do." 

"  Then  you  see  more  than  is  written,"  declared 
Champe,  from  the  other  side,  "  for  it's  as  plain  as 
day  that  one  eye  says  Diggs  and  one  Lightfoot  — 
isn't  it,  Betty?" 

Betty  looked  up,  laughing.  "  If  you  are  so 
skilled  in  foreign  tongues,  what  can  I  answer  ? " 
she  asked.  "  Only  that  I've  been  a  mile  after 
this     holly     for     the     party     to-night,     and     I 

122 


Dan  and  Betty  123 

wouldn't  trust  it  to  all  of  you  together  —  for 
worlds." 

"  Oh,  go  on,  go  on,"  said  Dan,  impatiently. 
"  doesn't  that  mean  that  she'll  trust  it  to  me  alone? 
Good  morning,  my  boys,  God  be  with  you,"  and  he 
led  Prince  Rupert  aside  while  the  rest  rode  by. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  he  turned  to  one  of 
the  small  negroes,  his  hand  on  the  bridle.  "  Shall 
we  exchange  burdens,  O  eater  of  'possums?"  he 
asked  blandly.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  tote  your 
load,  while  you  lead  my  horse  to  the  house?  You 
aren't  afraid  of  him.  are  you?" 

The  little  negro  grinned.  "  He  do  look  moughty 
glum,  suh,"  he  replied,  half  fearfully. 

"  Glum !  Why,  the  amiability  in  that  horse's  face 
is  enough  to  draw  tears.  Come  up,  Prince  Ru- 
pert, your  highness  is  to  go  ahead  of  me;  it's  to 
oblige  a  lady,  you  know." 

Then,  as  Prince  Rupert  was  led  away,  Dan  looked 
at  Betty. 

"  Shall  it  be  the  turnpike  or  the  meadow  path  ?  " 
he  inquired,  with  the  gay  deference  he  used  toward 
women,  as  if  a  word  might  turn  it  to  a  jest  or  a  look 
might  make  it  earnest. 

"  The  meadow,  but  not  the  path,"  replied  the 
girl ;  "  the  path  is  asleep  under  the  snow."  She  cast 
a  happy  glance  over  the  white  landscape,  down  the 
long  turnpike,  and  across  the  broad  meadow  where 
a  cedar  tree  waved  like  a  snowy  plume.  "  Jake,  we 
must  climb  the  wall,"  she  added  to  the  negro  boy, 
"  be  careful  about  the  berries." 

Dan  threw  his  holly  into  the  meadow  and  lifted 
Betty  upon  the  stone  wall.    "  Now  wait  a  moment," 


124  The  Battle-Ground 

he  cautioned,  as  he  went  over.  "  Don't  move  till  I 
tell  you.  I'm  managing  this  job  —  thene,  now 
jump!" 

He  caught  her  hands  and  set  her  on  her  feet  be- 
side him.  "  Take  your  fence,  my  beauties/'  he  called 
gayly  to  the  dogs,  as  they  came  bounding  across 
the  turnpike. 

Betty  straightened  her  cap  and  took  up  her 
berries. 

"  Your  tender  mercies  are  rather  cruel,"  she  com- 
plained, as  she  did  so.  "  Even  my  hair  is  un- 
done." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  the  better,"  returned  Dan,  without 
looking  at  her.  "  I  don't  see  why  girls  make  them- 
selves so  smooth,  anyway.  That's  what  I  like  about 
you,  you  know  —  you've  always  got  a  screw  loose 
somewhere." 

"  But  I  haven't,"  cried  Betty,  stopping  in  the 
snow. 

"  What !  if  I  find  a  curl  where  it  oughtn't  to  be, 
may  I  have  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered  indignantly. 

"  Well,  there's  one  hanging  over  your  ear  now. 
Shall  I  put  it  straight  with  this  piece  of  holly  ?  My 
hands  are  full,  but  I  think  I  might  manage  it." 

"  Don't  touch  me  with  your  holly !  "  exclaimed 
Betty,  walking  faster ;  then  in  a  moment  she  turned 
and  stood  calling  to  the  dogs.  "  Have  you  noticed 
what  beauties  Bill  and  Peyton  have  grown  to  be  ? " 
she  questioned  pleasantly.  "  There  weren't  any 
boys  to  be  named  after  papa  and  Uncle  Bill,  so  I 
called  the  dogs  after  them,  you  know.  Papa  says  he 
would  rather  have  had  a  son  named  Peyton ;  but  I 


Dan  and   Betty  125 

tell  him  the  son  might  have  been  wicked  and 
brought  his  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say,  you're  right,"  he  stopped  with 
a  sweep  of  his  hand,  and  stood  looking  to  where  a 
flock  of  crows  were  flying  over  the  dried  spectres 
of  carrot  flowers  that  stood  up  above  the  snow  ; 
"That's  fine,  now,  isn't  it?"  he  asked  seriously. 

Betty  followed  his  gesture,  then  she  gave  a  little 
cry  and  threw  her  arms  round  the  dogs.  "  The 
poor  crows  are  so  hungry,"  she  said.  "  No,  no, 
you  mustn't  chase  them,  Bill  and  Peyton,  it  isn't 
right,  you  see.  Here,  Jake,  come  and  hold  the  dogs, 
while  I  feed  the  crows."  She  drew  a  handful  of  corn 
from  the  pocket  of  her  cloak,  and  flung  it  out  into 
the  meadow. 

"  I  always  bring  corn  for  them,"  she  explained ; 
"  they  get  so  hungry,  and  sometimes  they  starve  to 
death  right  out  here.  Papa  says  they  are  pernicious 
birds ;  but  I  don't  care  —  do  you  mind  their  being 
pernicious  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Not  in  the  least.  I  assure  you  I  trouble 
myself  very  little  about  the  morals  of  my  associ- 
ates. I'm  not  fond  of  crows ;  but  it  is  their  voices 
rather  than  their  habits  I  object  to.  I  can't  stand 
their  eternal  '  cawing ! '  —  it  drives  me  mad." 

"  I  suppose  foxes  are  pernicious  beasts,  also," 
said  Betty,  as  she  walked  on ;  "  but  there's  an  old 
red  fox  in  the  woods  that  I've  been  feeding  for 
years.  I  don't  know  anything  that  foxes  like  to  eat 
except  chickens,  but  I  carry  him  a  basket  of  pota- 
toes and  turnips  and  bread,  and  pile  them  up  under 
a  pine  tree;  it's  just  as  well  for  him  to  acquire  the 
taste  for  them,  isn't  it  ?  " 


126  The  Battle-Ground 

She  smiled  at  Dan  above  her  fur  tippet,  and  he 
forgot  her  words  in  watching  the  animation  come 
and  go  in  her  face.  He  fell  to  musing  over  her  de- 
cisive little  chin,  the  sensitive  curves  of  her  nostrils 
and  sweet  wide  mouth,  and  above  all  over  her  kind 
yet  ardent  look,  which  gave  the  peculiar  beauty 
to  her  eyes. 

"  Ah,  is  there  anything  in  heaven  or  earth  that 
you  don't  like  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  gazed  at  her. 

"  That  I  don't  like  ?    Shall  I  really  tell  you  ?  " 

He  bent  toward  her  over  his  armful  of  holly. 

"  I  have  a  capacious  breast  for  secrets,"  he  assured 
her. 

"  Then  you  will  never  breathe  it  ?  " 

"  Will  you  have  me  swear  ? "  he  glanced  about 
him. 

"  Not  by  the  inconstant  moon,"  she  entreated 
merrily. 

"  Well,  by  my  '  gracious  self  ' ;  what's  the  rest 
of  it?" 

She  coloured  and  drew  away  from  him.  His 
eyes  made  her  self-conscious,  ill  at  ease ;  the  very 
carelessness  of  his  look  disconcerted  her. 

"  No,  do  not  swear,"  she  begged.  "  I  shall  trust 
you  with  even  so  weighty  a  confidence.  I  do  not: 
like  —  " 

"  Oh,  come,  why  torture  me  ?  "  he  demanded. 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  alarm.  "  From  fear 
of  the  wrath  to  come,"  she  admitted. 

"  Of  my  wrath  ?  "  he  regarded  her  with  amaze- 
ment.   "  Oh,  don't  you  like  me?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  You !  Yes,  yes  —  but  —  have  mercy  upon  your 
petitioner.    I  do  not  like  your  cravats." 


Dan  and   Betty  127 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  stood  before  him  with 
lowered  head. 

"  My  cravats !  "  cried  Dan,  in  dismay,  as  his  hand 
went  to  his  throat,  "  but  my  cravats  are  from  Paris 
—  Charlie  Morson  brought  them  over.  What  is  the 
matter  with  them  ?  " 

"  They  —  they're  too  fancy,"  confessed  Betty. 
"  Papa  wears  only  white,  or  black  ones  you  know." 

"  Too  fancy !  Nonsense !  do  you  want  to  send 
me  back  to  grandfather's  stocks,  I  wonder?  It's  just 
pure  envy  —  that's  what  it  is.  Never  mind,  I'll  give 
you  the  very  best  one  I've  got." 

Betty  shook  her  head.  "  And  what  should  I  do 
with  it,  pray  ? "  she  asked.  "  Uncle  Shadrach 
wouldn't  wear  it  for  worlds  —  he  wears  only  papa's 
clothes,  you  see.  Oh,  I  might  give  it  to  Hosea ;  but 
I  don't  think  he'd  like  it." 

"  Hosea !  Well,  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Dan,  and 
was  silent. 

When  he  spoke  a  little  later  it  uas  somewhat 
awkwardly. 

"  I  say,  did  Virginia  ever  tell  you  she  didn't  like 
my  cravats?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Virginia !  "  her  voice  was  a  little  startled.  "  Oh, 
Virginia  thinks  they're  lovely." 

"And  you  don't?" 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  case,"  he  said,  and  walked  on 
slowly. 

They  were  already  in  sight  of  the  house,  and  he 
did  not  speak  again  until  they  had  passed  the  por- 
tico and  entered  the  hall.  There  they  found  Virginia 
and  the  young  men,  who  had  ridden  over  ahead  of 


128  The  Battle-Ground 

them,  hanging  evergreens  for  the  approaching  party. 
Jack  Morson,  from  the  top  of  the  step-ladder,  was 
suspending  a  holly  wreath  above  the  door,  while 
Champe  was  entwining  the  mahogany  balustrade 
in  running  cedar. 

"  Oh,  Betty,  would  it  be  disrespectful  to  put  mis- 
tletoe above  General  Washington's  portrait?  "  called 
Virginia,  as  they  went  into  the  hall. 

"  I  don't  think  he'd  mind  —  the  old  dear,"  an- 
swered Betty,  throwing  her  armful  of  holly  upon 
the  floor.  "  There,  Dan,  the  burden  of  the  day  is 
over." 

"  And  none  too  soon,"  said  Dan,  as  he  tossed  the 
holly  from  him.  "  Diggs,  you  sluggard,  what  are 
you  sitting  there  in  idleness  for?  Miss  Pussy,  can't 
you  set  him  to  work  ?  " 

Miss  Pussy,  who  was  bustling  in  and  out  with  a 
troop  of  servants  at  her  heels,  found  time  to  reply 
seriously  that  she  really  didn't  think  there  was  any- 
thing she  could  trust  him  with.  "  Of  course,  I 
don't  mind  your  amusing  yourselves  with  the  dec- 
orations," she  added  briskly,  "  but  the  cooking  is 
quite  a  different  thing,  you  know." 

"  Amusing  myself !  "  protested  Dan,  in  aston- 
ishment. "  My  dear  lady,  do  you  call  carrying  a 
wagon  load  of  brushwood  amusement?  Now,  I'll 
grant,  if  you  please,  that  Morson  is  amusing  himself 
on  the  step-ladder." 

"Keep  off,"  implored  Morson,  in  terror ;  "  if  you 
shake  the  thing,  I'm  gone,  I  declare  I  am." 

He  nailed  the  garland  in  place  and  came  down 
cautiously.  "  Now,  that's  what  I  call  an  artistic 
job,"  he  complacently  remarked. 


Dan  and  Betty  129 

"  Why,  it's  lovely,"  said  Virginia,  smiling,  as  he 
turned  to  her.    "  It's  lovely,  isn't  it,  Betty  ?  " 

"  As  lovely  as  a  crooked  thing  can  be,"  laughed 
Betty.  She  was  looking  earnestly  at  Virginia, 
and  wondering  if  she  really  liked  Jack  Morson 
so  very  much.  The  girl  was  so  bewitching  in 
her  red  dress,  with  the  flush  of  a  sudden  emo- 
tion in  her  face,  and  the  shyness  in  her  down- 
cast eyes. 

"  Oh,  that  isn't  fair,  Virginia,"  called  Champe 
from  the  steps.  "  Save  your  favour  for  the  man 
that  deserves  it  —  and  look  at  me."  Virginia  did 
look  at  him,  sending  him  the  same  radiant  glance. 

"  But  I've  many  '  lovelies  '  left,"  she  said  quickly ; 
"  it's  my  favourite  word." 

"  A  most  appropriate  taste,"  faltered  Diggs,  from 
his  chair  beneath  the  hall  clock. 

Champe  descended  the  staircase  with  a  bound. 

"What  do  I  hear?"  he  exclaimed.  "Has  the 
oyster  opened  his  mouth  and  brought  forth  a  compli- 
ment?" 

"  Oh,  be  quiet,"  commanded  Dan,  "  I  shan't  hear 
Diggs  made  fun  of,  and  it's  time  to  get  back,  any- 
way. Well,  loveliest  of  lovely  ladies,  you  must  put 
on  your  prettiest  frock  to-night." 

Virginia's  blush  deepened.  Did  she  like  Dan  so 
very  much?  thought  Betty. 

"  But  you  mustn't  notice  me,  please,"  she  begged, 
"  all  the  neighbours  are  coming,  and  there  are  so 
many  girls,  —  the  Powells  and  the  Harrisons  and 
the  Dulaneys.  I  am  going  to  wear  pink,  but  you 
mustn't  notice  it,  you  know." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Jack  Morson,  "  make  him 


130  The  Battle-Ground 

do  his  duty  by  the  County,  and  keep  your  dances 
for  Diggs  and  me." 

"  I've  done  my  duty  by  you,  sir,"  was  Dan's 
prompt  retort,  "  so  I'll  begin  to  do  my  pleasure  by 
myself.  Now  I  give  you  fair  warning,  Virginia, 
if  you  don't  save  the  first  reel  for  me,  I'll  dance  all 
the  rest  with  Betty." 

"  Then  it  will  be  a  Betty  of  your  own  making," 
declared  Betty  over  her  shoulder,  "  for  this  Betty 
doesn't  dance  a  single  step  with  you  to-night,  so 
there,  sir." 

"  Your  punishment  be  on  your  own  head,  rash' 
woman,"  said  Dan,  sternly,  as  he  took  up  his  riding- 
whip.  "  I'll  dance  with  Peggy  Harrison,"  and  he 
went  out  to  Prince  Rupert,  lifting  his  hat,  as  he 
mounted,  to  Miss  Lydia,  who  stood  at  her  win- 
dow above.  A  moment  later  they  heard  his 
horse's  hoofs  ringing  in  the  drive,  and  his  voice 
gayly  whistling :  — 

"  They  tell  me  thou'rt  the  favor'd  guest." 

When  the  others  joined  him  in  the  turnpike,  the 
four  voices  took  up  the  air,  and  sent  the  pathetic 
melody  fairly  dancing  across  the  snow. 

"  Do  I  thus  haste  to  hall  and  bower 
Among  the  proud  and  gay  to  shine  ? 
Or  deck  my  hair  with  gem  and  flower 

To  flatter  other  eyes  than  thine? 
Ah,  no,  with  me  love's  smiles  are  past; 
Thou  hadst  the  first,  thou  hadst  the  last." 

The  song  ended  in  a  burst  of  laughter,  and  up 
the  white  turnpike,  beneath  the  melting  snow  that 


Dan  and  Betty  131 

rained  down  from  the  trees,  they  rode  merrily  back 
to  Chericoke. 

In  the  carriage  way  they  found  the  Major, 
wrapped  in  his  broadcloth  cape,  taking  what  he 
called  a  "  breath  of  air." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  I  hope  you  had  a  pleasant 
ride,"  he  remarked,  following  them  into  the  house. 
"  You  didn't  see  your  way  to  stop  by  Uplands,  I 
reckon  ?  " 

"  That  we  did,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  who  was  never 
bashful  with  the  Major.  "  In  fact,  we  made  our- 
selves rather  useful,  I  believe." 

"  They're  charming  young  ladies  over  there, 
eh?"  inquired  the  Major,  genially;  and  a  little 
later  when  Dan  and  he  were  alone,  he  put  the 
same  question  to  his  grandson.  "  They're  de- 
lightful girls,  are  they  not,  my  boy  ? "  he  ven- 
tured incautiously.  "  You  have  noticed,  I  dare 
say,  how  your  grandmother  takes  to  Betty  —  and 
she's  not  a  woman  of  many  fancies,  is  your  grand- 
mother." 

"  Oh,  but  Virginia ! "  exclaimed  Dan,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  in  her 
red  dress  to-day.  You  don't  half  realize  what  a 
thundering  beauty  that  girl  is.  Why,  she  positively 
took  my  breath  away." 

The  Major  chuckled  and  rubbed  his  hands  to- 
gether. 

"  I  don't,  eh  ?  "  he  said,  scenting  a  romance  as  an 
old  war  horse  scents  a  battle.  "  Well,  well,  maybe 
not;  but  I  see  where  the  wind  blows  anyway,  and 
you  have  my  congratulations  on  either  hand.  I 
shan't  deny  that  we  old   folks  had  a  leaning  to 


132  The  Battle-Ground 

Betty;  but  youth  is  youth,  and  we  shan't  oppose 
your  fancy.  So  I  congratulate  you,  my  boy,  I  con- 
gratulate you." 

"  Ah,  she  wouldn't  look  at  me,  sir,"  declared 
Dan,  feeling  that  the  pace  was  becoming  a  little 
too  impetuous.  "  I  only  wish  she  would ;  but 
I'd  as  soon  expect  the  moon  to  drop  from  the 
skies." 

"  Not  look  at  you !  Pooh,  pooh !  "  protested  the 
old  gentleman,  indignantly.  "  Proper  pride  is  not 
vanity,  sir;  and  there's  never  been  a  Lightfoot  yet 
that  couldn't  catch  a  woman's  eye,  if  I  do  say  it 
who  should  not.  Pooh,  pooh !  it  isn't  a  faint  heart 
that  wins  the  ladies." 

"  I  know  you  to  be  an  authority,  my  dear  grand- 
pa," admitted  the  young  man,  lightly  glancing  into 
the  gilt-framed  mirror  above  the  mantel.  "  If 
there's  any  of  your  blood  in  me,  it  makes  for  con- 
quest." From  the  glass  he  caught  the  laughter  in 
his  eyes  and  turned  it  on  his  grandfather. 

"  It  ill  becomes  me  to  rob  the  Lightfoots  of  one 
of  their  chief  distinctions,"  said  the  Major,  smiling 
in  his  turn.  "  We  are  not  a  proud  people,  my  boy ; 
but  we've  always  fought  like  men  and  made  love 
like  gentlemen,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  live  up 
to  your  inheritance." 

Then,  as  his  grandson  ran  upstairs  to  dress,  he 
followed  him  as  far  as  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  chamber, 
and  informed  her  with  a  touch  of  pomposity :  "  That 
it  was  Virginia,  not  Betty,  after  all.  But  we'll 
make  the  best  of  it,  my  dear,"  he  added  cheerfully. 
"  Either  of  the  Ambler  girls  is  a  jewel  of  priceless 
value." 


Dan  and  Betty  133 

The  little  old  lady  received  this  flower  of  speech 
with  more  than  ordinary  unconcern. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  that 
the  boy  has  begun  already  ? "  she  demanded,  in 
amazement. 

"  He  doesn't  say  so,"  replied  the  Major,  with 
a  chuckle ;  "  but  I  see  what  he  means  —  I  see  what 
he  means.  Why,  he  told  me  he  wished  I  could  have 
seen  her  to-day  in  her  red  dress  —  and,  bless  my 
soul,  I  wish  I  could,  ma'am." 

"  I  don't  see  what  good  it  would  do  you,"  returned 
his  wife,  coolly.  "  But  did  he  have  the  face  to 
tell  you  he  was  in  love  with  the  girl,  Mr.  Light- 
foot?" 

"Have  the  face?"  repeated  the  Major,  testily. 
"  Pray,  why  shouldn't  he  have  the  face,  ma'am  ? 
Whom  should  he  tell,  I'd  like  to  know,  before  he 
tells  his  grandfather?"  and  with  a  final  "pooh, 
pooh !  "  he  returned  angrily  to  his  library  and  to 
the  Richmond  Whig,  a  paper  he  breathlessly  read 
and  mightily  abused. 

Dan,  meanwhile,  upstairs  in  his  room  with 
Champe,  was  busily  sorting  his  collection  of  neck- 
wear. 

"  Look  here,  Champe,  I'll  give  you  all  these  red 
ties,  if  you  want  them,"  he  generously  concluded. 
"  I  believe,  after  all,  I'll  take  to  wearing  white  or 
black  ones  again." 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Champe,  in  astonishment,  turn- 
ing on  his  heel.  "  Have  the  skies  fallen,  or  does 
Beau  Montjoy  forsake  the  fashions?" 

"Confound  the  fashions!"  retorted  Dan,  impa- 
tiently.   "  I  don't  care  a  jot  for  the  fashions.    You 


134  The  Battle-Ground 

may  have  all  these,  if  you  choose,"  and  he  tossed 
the  neckties  upon  the  bed. 

Champe  picked  up  one  and  examined  it  with 
interest. 

"  O  woman,"  he  murmured  as  he  did  so,  "  your 
hand  is  small  but  mighty." 


IV 


LOVE   IN   A   MAZE 

Despite  Virginia's  endeavour  to  efface  herself  for 
her  guests,  she  shone  unrivalled  at  the  party,  and 
Dan,  who  had  held  her  hand  for  an  ecstatic  moment 
under  the  mistletoe,  felt,  as  he  rode  home  in  the 
moonlight  afterwards,  that  his  head  was  fairly  on 
fire  with  her  beauty.  She  had  been  sweetly  candid 
and  flatteringly  impartial.  He  could  not  honestly 
assert  that  she  had  danced  with  him  oftener  than 
with  Morson,  or  a  dozen  others,  but  he  had  a  pleas- 
ant feeling  that  even  when  she  shook  her  head  and 
said,  "  I  cannot,"  her  soft  eyes  added  for  her, 
"  though  I  really  wish  to.''  There  was  something 
almost  pitiable,  he  told  himself  in  the  complacency 
with  which  that  self-satisfied  ass  Morson  would 
come  and  take  her  from  him.  As  if  he  hadn't  sense 
enough  to  discover  that  it  was  merely  because  she 
was  his  hostess  that  she  went  with  him  at  all.  But 
some  men  would  never  understand  women,  though 
they  lived  to  be  a  thousand,  and  got  rejected  once  a 
day. 

Out  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  Governor's  wine 
singing  in  his  blood,  he  found  that  his  emotions  had 
a  way  of  tripping  lightly  off  his  tongue.  There  were 
hot  words  with  Diggs,  who  hinted  that  Virginia  was 
not  the  beauty  of  the  century,  and  threats  of  blows 

*35 


136  The  Battle-Ground 

with  Morson,  who  too  boldly  affirmed  that  she  was. 
In  the  end  Champe  rode  between  them,  and  sent 
Prince  Rupert  on  his  way  with  a  touch  of  the  whip. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  keep  your  twaddle  to  your- 
selves !  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  "  or  take  my  ad- 
vice, and  make  for  the  nearest  duck  pond.  You've 
both  gone  over  your  depth  in  the  Governor's  Ma- 
deira, and  I  advise  you  to  keep  quiet  until  you've 
had  your  heads  in  a  basin  of  ice  water.  There,  get 
out  of  my  road,  Morson.  I  can't  sit  here  freezing 
all  night." 

"Do  you  dare  to  imply  that  I  am  drunk,  sir?" 
demanded  Morson,  in  a  fury.  "  Bear  witness,  gen- 
tlemen, that  the  insult  was  unprovoked." 

"  Oh,  insult  be  damned !  "  retorted  Champe.  "  If 
you  shake  your  fist  at  me  again,  I'll  pitch  you  head 
over  heels  into  that  snowdrift." 

"Pitch  whom,  sir?"  roared  Morson,  riding  at 
the  wall,  when  Diggs  caught  his  bridle  and  roughly 
dragged  him  back. 

"  Come,  now,  don't  make  a  beast  of  yourself,"  he 
implored. 

"  Who's  a  beast  ?  "  was  promptly  put  by  Morson ; 
but  leaving  it  unanswered,  Diggs  wheeled  his  horse 
about  and  started  up  the  turnpike.  "  You've  let 
Beau  get  out  of  sight,"  he  said.  "  We'd  better  catch 
up  with  him,"  and  he  set  off  at  a  gallop. 

Dan,  who  had  ridden  on  at  Champe's  first  words, 
did  not  even  turn  his  head  when  the  three  came 
abreast  with  him.  The  moonlight  was  in  his  eyes, 
and  the  vision  of  Virginia  floated  before  him  at  his 
saddle  bow.  He  let  the  reins  fall  loosely  on  Prince 
Rupert's  neck,  and  as  the  hoofs  rang  on  the  frozen 


Love  in  a  Maze  137 

road,  thrust  his  hands  for  warmth  into  his  coat.  In 
another  dress,  with  his  dark  hair  blown  backward 
in  the  wind,  he  might  have  been  a  cavalier  fresh 
from  the  service  of  his  lady  or  his  king,  or  riding 
carelessly  to  his  death  for  the  sake  of  the  drunken 
young  Pretender. 

But  he  was  only  following  his  dreams,  and  they 
hovered  round  Virginia,  catching  their  rosy  glamour 
from  her  dress.  In  the  cold  night  air  he  saw  her 
walking  demurely  through  the  lancers,  her  skirt  held 
up  above  her  satin  shoes,  her  coral  necklace  glowing 
deeper  pink  against  her  slim  white  throat.  Mistle- 
toe and  holly  hung  over  her,  and  the  light  of  the 
candles  shone  brighter  where  her  radiant  figure 
passed.  He  caught  the  soft  flash  of  her  shy  brown 
eyes,  he  heard  her  gentle  voice  speaking  trivial 
things  with  profound  tenderness.  His  hand  still 
burned  from  the  light  pressure  of  her  finger  tips. 
Oh,  his  day  had  come,  he  told  himself,  and  he  was 
furiously  in  love  at  last. 

As  for  going  back  to  college,  the  very  idea  was 
absurd.  At  twenty  years  it  was  quite  time  for  him 
to  settle  down  and  keep  open  house  like  other  men. 
Virginia,  in  rose  pink,  flitted  up  the  crooked  stair 
and  across  the  white  panels  of  the  parlor,  and  with 
a  leap,  his  heart  went  after  her.  He  saw  Great-aunt 
Emmeline  lean  down  from  her  faded  canvas  as  if  to 
toss  her  apple  at  the  young  girl's  feet.  Ah,  poor  old 
beauty,  hanging  in  a  gilded  frame,  what  was  her 
century  of  dust  to  a  bit  of  living  flesh  that  had 
bright  eyes  and  was  coloured  like  a  flower? 

When  he  was  safely  married  he  would  have  his 
wife's  portrait  hung  upon  the  opposite  wall,  only  he 


138  The  Battle-Ground 

rather  thought  he  should  have  the  dogs  in  and  le€ 
her  be  Diana,  with  a  spear  instead  of  an  apple  in 
her  hand.  Two  beauties  in  one  family  —  that  was 
something  to  be  proud  of  even  in  Virginia. 

It  was  at  this  romantic  point  that  Champe  shat- 
tered his  visions  by  shooting  a  jest  at  him  about  the 
"  love  sick  swain." 

"  Oh,  be  off,  and  let  a  fellow  think,  won't  you  ?  " 
he  retorted  angrily. 

"Do  you  hear  him  call  it  thinking?"  jeered 
Diggs,  from  the  other  side. 

"  He  doesn't  call  it  mooning,  oh,  no,"  scoffed 
Champe. 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life,"  sang 
Morson,  striking  an  attitude  that  almost  threw  him 
off  his  horse. 

"  Shut  up,  Morson,"  commanded  Diggs,  "  you 
ought  to  be  thankful  if  you  had  enough  sense  left  to 
moon  with." 

"  Sense,  who  wants  sense  ? "  inquired  Morson, 
on  the  point  of  tears.    "  I  have  heart,  sir." 

"  Then  keep  it  bottled  up,"  rejoined  Champe, 
coolly,  as  they  turned  into  the  drive  at  Chericoke. 

In  Dan's  room  they  found  Big  Abel  stretched  be- 
fore the  fire  asleep ;  and  as  the  young  men  came  in, 
he  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  Hi !  young  Marsters,  hit's  ter-morrow !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  To-morrow !  I  wish  it  were  to-morrow,"  re- 
sponded Dan,  cheerfully.  "  The  fire  makes  my  head 
spin  like  a  top.  Here,  come  and  pull  off  my  coat, 
Big  Abel,  or  I'll  have  to  go  to  bed  with  my  clothes 
on. 


Love  in  a  Maze  139 

Big  Abel  pulled  off  the  coat  and  brushed  it  care- 
fully ;  then  he  held  out  his  hand  for  Champe's. 

"  I  hope  dis  yer  coat  ain'  gwine  lose  hit's  set  'fo' 
hit  gits  ter  me,"  he  muttered  as  he  hung  them  up. 
"  Seems  like  you  don'  teck  no  cyar  yo'  clothes,  no- 
how, Marse  Dan.  I'se  de  wuss  dress  somebody  dis 
yer  side  er  de  po'  w'ite  trash.  Wat's  de  use  er  bein' 
de  quality  ef'n  you  ain'  got  de  close?  " 

"  Stop  grumbling,  you  fool  you,"  returned  Dan, 
with  his  lordly  air.  "If  it's  my  second  best  evening 
suit  you're  after,  you  may  take  it;  but  I  tell  you 
now,  it's  the  last  thing  you're  going  to  get  out  of  me 
till  summer." 

Big  Abel  took  down  the  second  best  suit  of  clothes 
and  examined  them  with  an  interest  they  had  never 
inspired  before.  "  I  d'clar  you  sutney  does  set 
hard,"  he  remarked  after  a  moment,  and  added,  ten- 
tatively, "  I  dunno  whar  de  shuts  gwine  come  f'om." 

"  Not  from  me,"  replied  Dan,  airily ;  "  and  now 
get  out  of  here,  for  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

But  when  he  threw  himself  upon  his  bed  it  was  to 
toss  with  feverish  rose-coloured  dreams  until  the 
daybreak. 

His  blood  was  still  warm  when  he  came  down  to 
breakfast;  but  he  met  his  grandfather's  genial  jests 
with  a  boyish  attempt  at  counter-buff. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  twit  me,  sir,"  he  said  with  an 
embarrassed  laugh ;  "  to  wear  the  heart  upon  the 
sleeve  is  hereditary  with  us,  you  know." 

"  Keep  clear  of  the  daws,  my  son,  and  it  does  no 
harm,"  responded  the  Major.  "  There's  nothing  so 
becoming  to  a  gentleman  as  a  fine  heart  well  worn, 
eh,  Molly?" 


140  The  Battle-Ground 

He  carefully  spread  the  butter  upon  his  calces, 
for  his  day  of  love-making  was  over,  and  his  eye 
could  hold  its  twinkle  while  he  watched  Dan  fidget 
in  his  seat. 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  promptly  took  up  the  challenge. 
"  For  my  part  I  prefer  one  under  a  buttoned  coat," 
she  replied  briskly ;  "  but  be  careful,  Mr.  Lightfoot, 
or  you  will  put  notions  into  the  boys'  heads.  They 
are  at  the  age  when  a  man  has  a  fancy  a  day  and  gets 
over  it  before  he  knows  it." 

"  They  are  at  the  age  when  I  had  my  fancy  for 
you,  Molly,"  gallantly  retorted  the  Major,  "and  I 
seem  to  be  carrying  it  with  me  to  my  grave." 

"It  would  be  a  dull  wit  that  would  go  roving  from 
Aunt  Molly,"  said  Champe,  affectionately;  "but 
there  aren't  many  of  her  kind  in  the  world." 

"  I  never  found  but  one  like  her,"  admitted  the 
Major,  "  and  I've  seen  a  good  deal  in  my  day,  sir." 

The  old  lady  listened  with  a  smile,  though  she 
spoke  in  a  severe  voice.  "  You  mustn't  let  them 
teach  you  how  to  flatter,  Mr.  Morson,"  she  said 
warningly,  as  she  filled  the  Major's  second  cup  of 
coffee  — "  Cupid,  Mr.  Morson  will  have  a  par- 
tridge." 

"  The  man  who  sits  at  your  table  will  never  ques- 
tion your  supremacy,  dear  madam,"  returned  Jack 
Morson,  as  he  helped  himself  to  a  bird.  "  There  is 
little  merit  in  devotion  to  such  bounty." 

"  Shall  I  kick  him,  grandma  ? "  demanded  Dan. 
"  He  means  that  we  love  you  because  you  feed  us, 
the  sly  scamp." 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  shook  her  head  reprovingly. 
"  Oh,  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Morson,"  she  said 


Love  in  a  Maze  141 

amiably,  "  and  a  compliment  to  my  housekeeping 
never  goes  amiss.  If  a  woman  has  any  talent,  it  will 
come  out  upon  her  table." 

"  You're  right,  Molly,  you're  right,"  agreed  the 
Major,  heartily.  "  I've  always  held  that  there  was 
nothing  in  a  man  who  couldn't  make  a  speech  or  in 
a  woman  who  couldn't  set  a  table." 

Dan  stirred  restlessly  in  his  chair,  and  at  the  first 
movement  of  Mrs.  Lightfoot  he  rose  and  went  out 
into  the  hall.  An  hour  later  he  ordered  Prince 
Rupert  and  started  joyously  to  Uplands. 

As  he  rode  through  the  frosted  air  he  pictured  to 
himself  a  dozen  different  ways  in  which  it  was  pos- 
sible that  he  might  meet  Virginia.  Would  she  be 
upon  the  portico  or  in  the  parlour  ?  Was  she  still  in 
pink  or  would  she  wear  the  red  gown  of  yesterday? 
When  she  gave  him  her  hand  would  she  smile  as  she 
had  smiled  last  night  ?  or  would  she  stand  demurely 
grave  with  down  dropped  lashes? 

The  truth  was  that  she  did  none  of  the  things  he 
had  half  expected  of  her.  She  was  sitting  before  a 
log  fire,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  Harrisons  and 
Powells,  who  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  spend  the 
night,  and  when  he  entered  she  gave  him  a  sleepy 
little  nod  from  the  corner  of  a  rosewood  sofa.  As 
she  lay  back  in  the  firelight  she  was  like  a  drowsy 
kitten  that  had  just  awakened  from  a  nap.  Though 
less  radiant,  her  beauty  was  more  appealing,  and  as 
she  stared  at  him  with  her  large  eyes  blinking,  he 
wanted  to  stoop  down  and  rock  her  off  to  sleep.  He 
regarded  her  calmly  this  morning,  for,  with  all  his 
tenderness,  she  did  not  fire  his  brain,  and  the  glory 
of  the  vision  had  passed  away.     Half  angrily  he 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 7 


142  The  Battle-Ground 

asked  himself  if  he  were  in  love  with  a  pink  dress 
and  nothing  more? 

An  hour  afterward  he  came  noisily  into  the  library 
at  Chericoke  and  aroused  the  Major  from  his  Hor- 
ace by  stamping  distractedly  about  the  room. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  up  with  me,  sir,"  he  began  despond- 
ently. "  I  might  as  well  go  out  and  hang  myself. 
I  don't  know  what  I  want  and  yet  I'm  going  mad 
because  I  can't  get  it." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  Major,  soothingly. 
"  I've  been  through  it  myself,  sir,  and  since  your 
grandmother's  out  of  earshot,  I'd  as  well  con- 
fess that  I've  been  through  it  more  than  once. 
Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  you  aren't  the  first  to  dare  the 
venture  —  Fixer e  fortes  ante  Agamemnona,  you 
know." 

His  assurance  was  hardly  as  comforting  as  he 
had  intended  it  to  be.  "  Oh,  I  dare  say,  there've 
been  fools  enough  before  me,"  returned  Dan,  im- 
patiently, as  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room. 

He  grew  still  more  impatient  when  the  day  came 
for  him  to  return  to  college ;  and  as  they  started  out 
on  horseback,  with  Zeke  and  Big  Abel  riding  behind 
their  masters,  he  declared  irritably  that  the  whole 
system  of  education  was  a  nuisance,  and  that  he 
"  wished  the  ark  had  gone  down  with  all  the  ancient 
languages  on  board." 

"  There  would  still  be  law,"  suggested  Morson, 
pleasantly.  "  So  cheer  up,  Beau,  there's  something 
left  for  you  to  learn." 

Then,  as  they  passed  Uplands,  they  turned,  with 
a  single  impulse,  and  cantered  up  the  broad  drive  to 
the  portico.    Betty  and  Virginia  were  in  the  library ; 


Love  in  a  Maze  143 

and  as  they  heard  the  horses,  they  came  running  to 
the  window  and  threw  it  open. 

"  So  you  will  come  back  in  the  summer  —  all  of 
you,"  said  Virginia,  hopefully,  and  as  she  leaned  out 
a  white  camellia  fell  from  her  bosom  to  the  snow  be- 
neath. In  an  instant  Jack  Morson  was  off  his  horse 
and  the  flower  was  in  his  hand.  "  We'll  bring 
back  all  that  we  take  away,"  he  answered  gallantly, 
his  fair  boyish  face  as  red  as  Virginia's. 

Dan  could  have  kicked  him  for  the  words,  but  he 
merely  said  savagely,  "  Have  you  left  your  pocket 
handkerchief  ?  "  and  turned  Prince  Rupert  toward 
the  road.  When  he  looked  back  from  beneath 
the  silver  poplars,  the  girls  were  still  standing 
at  the  open  window,  the  cold  wind  flushing  their 
cheeks  and  blowing  the  brown  hair  and  the  red 
together. 

Virginia  was  the  first  to  turn  away.  "  Come  in, 
you'll  take  cold,"  she  said,  going  to  the  fire. 
"  f^ggy  Harrison  never  goes  out  when  the  wind 
blows,  you  know,  she  says  it's  dreadful  for  the  com- 
plexion. Once  when  she  had  to  come  back  from 
town  on  a  March  day,  she  told  me  she  wore  six 
green  veils.  I  wonder  if  that's  the  way  she  keeps 
her  lovely  colour  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  be  Peggy  Harrison,"  returned 
Betty,  gayly,  and  she  added  in  the  same  tone,  "  so 
Mr.  Morson  got  your  camellia,  after  all,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Oh,  he  begged  so  hard  with  his  eyes,"  answered 
Virginia.  "  He  had  seen  me  give  Dan  a  white  rose 
on  Christmas  Eve,  you  know,  and  he  said  it  wasn't 
fair  to  be  so  unfair." 

"  You  gave  Dan  a  white  rose  ? "  repeated  Betty, 


144  The  Battle-Ground 

slowly.  Her  face  was  pale,  but  she  was  smiling 
brightly. 

Virginia's  soft  little  laugh  pealed  out.  "  And  it 
was  your  rose,  too,  darling,"  she  said,  nestling  to 
Betty  like  a  child.  "  You  dropped  it  on  the  stair 
and  I  picked  it  up.  I  was  just  going  to  take  it  to 
you  because  it  looked  so  lovely  in  your  hair,  when 
Dan  came  along  and  he  would  have  it,  whether  or 
no.  But  you  don't  mind,  do  you,  just  a  little  bit 
of  white  rosebud  ? "  She  put  up  her  hand  and 
stroked  her  sister's  cheek.  "  Men  are  so  silly,  aren't 
they  ?  "  she  added  with  a  sigh. 

For  a  moment  Betty  looked  down  upon  the  brown 
head  on  her  bosom;  then  she  stooped  and  kissed 
Virginia's  brow.  "  Oh,  no,  I  don't  mind,  dear,"  she 
answered,  "  and  women  are  very  silly,  too,  some- 
times." 

She  loosened  Virginia's  arms  and  went  slowly 
upstairs  to  her  bedroom,  where  Petunia  was  replen- 
ishing the  fire.  "  You  may  go  down,  Petunia,"  she 
said  as  she  entered.  "  I  am  going  to  put  my  things 
to  rights,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  bother  me  —  go 
straight  downstairs." 

"  Is  you  gwine  in  yo'  chist  er  draws  ?  "  inquired 
Petunia,  pausing  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  into  my  chest  of  drawers,  but 
you're  not,"  retorted  Betty,  sharply ;  and  when  Pe- 
tunia had  gone  out  and  closed  the  door  after  her, 
she  pulled  out  her  things  and  began  to  straighten 
rapidly,  rolling  up  her  ribbons  with  shaking  fingers, 
and  carefully  folding  her  clothes  into  compact 
squares.  Ever  since  her  childhood  she  had  always 
begun  to  work  at  her  chest  of  drawers  when  any 


Love  in  a  Maze  145 

sudden  shock  unnerved  her.  After  a  great  happi- 
ness she  took  up  her  trowel  and  dug  among  the 
flowers  of  the  garden;  but  when  her  heart  was 
heavy  within  her,  she  shut  her  door  and  put  her 
clothes  to  rights. 

Now,  as  she  worked  rapidly,  the  tears  welled 
slowly  to  her  lashes,  but  she  brushed  them  angrily 
away,  and  rolled  up  a  sky-blue  sash.  She  had  worn 
the  sash  at  Chericoke  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  as  she 
looked  at  it,  she  felt,  with  the  keenness  of  pain,  a 
thrill  of  her  old  girlish  happiness.  The  figure  of 
Dan,  as  he  stood  upon  the  threshold  with  the  pow- 
dering of  snow  upon  his  hair,  rose  suddenly  to  her 
eyes,  and  she  flinched  before  the  careless  humour  of 
his  smile.  It  was  her  own  fault,  she  told  herself  a 
little  bitterly,  and  because  it  was  her  own  fault  she 
could  bear  it  as  she  should  have  borne  the  joy. 
There  was  nothing  to  cry  over,  nothing  even  to  re- 
gret ;  she  knew  now  that  she  loved  him,  and  she 
was  glad  —  glad  even  of  this.  If  the  bitterness  in 
her  heart  was  but  the  taste  of  knowledge,  she  would 
not  let  it  go;  she  would  keep  both  the  knowledge 
and  the  bitterness. 

In  the  next  room  Mammy  Riah  was  rocking  back 
and  forth  upon  the  hearth,  crooning  to  herself  while 
she  carded  a  lapful  of  wool.  Her  cracked  old  voice, 
still  with  its  plaintive  sweetness,  came  faintly  to 
the  girl  who  leaned  her  cheek  upon  the  sky-blue 
sash  and  listened,  half  against  her  will :  — 

"  Oh,  we'll  all  be  done  wid  trouble,  by  en  bye,  little  chillun, 
We'll  all  be  done  wid  trouble,  by  en  bye. 
,©h,  we'll  set  en  chatter  wid  de  angels,  by  en  bye,  little  chillun, 
We'll  set  en  chatter  wid  de  angels,  by  en  bye." 


146  The  Battle-Ground 

The  door  opened  and  Virginia  came  softly  into 
the  room,  and  stopped  short  at  the  sight  of  Betty. 

"  Why,  your  things  were  perfectly  straight, 
Betty,"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "  I  declare, 
you'll  be  a  real  old  maid." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall,"  replied  Betty,  indifferently ; 
"  but  if  I  am,  I'm  going  to  be  a  tidy  one." 

"  I  never  heard  of  one  who  wasn't,"  remarked 
Virginia,  and  added,  "  you've  put  all  your  ribbons 
into  the  wrong  drawer." 

"  I  like  a  change,"  said  Betty,  folding  up  a  muslin 
skirt. 

"  Oh,  we'll  slip  en  slide  on  de  golden  streets,  by  en  bye, 
little  chillun, 
We'll  slip  en  slide  on  de  golden  streets,  by  en  bye," 

sang  Mammy  Riah,  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Aunt  Lydia  found  six  red  pinks  in  bloom  in 
her  window  garden,"  observed  Virginia,  cheerfully. 
"  Why,  where  are  you  going,  Betty  ?  " 

"  Just  for  a  walk,"  answered  Betty,  as  she  put 
on  her  bonnet  and  cloak.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  the 
cold,  you  know,  and  I'm  so  tired  sitting  still,"  and 
she  added,  as  she  fastened  her  fur  tippet,  "  I  shan't 
be  long,  dear." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  Mammy  Riah's  voice 
followed  her  across  the  hall  and  down  the  broad 
staircase :  — 

"  Oh,  we'll  ride  on  de  milk  w'ite  ponies,  by  en  bye,  little  chillun, 
We'll  ride  on  de  milk  w'ite  ponies,  by  en  bye." 

At  the  foot  of  the  stair  she  called  the  dogs,  and 
they  came  bounding  through  the  hall  and  leaped 


Love  in  a  Maze  147 

upon  her  as  she  crossed  the  portico.  Then,  as  she 
went  down  the  drive  and  up  the  desolate  turnpike, 
they  ran  ahead  of  her  with  short,  joyous  barks. 

The  snow  had  melted  and  frozen  again,  and  the 
long  road  was  like  a  gray  river  winding  between 
leafless  trees.  The  gaunt  crows  were  still  flying 
back  and  forth  over  the  meadows,  but  she  did  not 
have  corn  for  them  to-day.  Had  she  been  happy, 
she  would  not  have  forgotten  them ;  but  the  pain  in 
her  breast  made  her  selfish  even  about  the  crows. 

With  the  dogs  leaping  round  her,  she  pressed 
bravely  against  the  wind,  flying  breathlessly  from 
the  struggle  at  her  heart.  There  was  nothing  to  cry 
over,  she  told  herself  again,  nothing  even  to  regret. 
It  was  her  own  fault,  and  because  it  was  her  own 
fault  she  could  bear  it  quietly  as  she  should  have 
borne  the  joy. 

She  had  reached  the  spot  where  he  had  lifted  her 
upon  the  wall,  and  leaning  against  the  rough  stones 
she  looked  southward  to  where  the  swelling  mead- 
ows dipped  into  the  projecting  line  of  hills.  He 
was  before  her  then,  as  he  always  would  be,  and 
shrinking  back,  she  put  up  her  hand  to  shut  out  the 
memory  of  his  eyes.  She  could  have  hated  that 
shallow  gayety,  she  told  herself,  but  for  the  tender- 
ness that  lay  beneath  it  —  since  jest  as  he  might  at 
his  own  scars,  when  had  he  ever  made  mirth  of  an- 
other's? Had  she  not  seen  him  fight  the  battles  of 
free  Levi?  and  when  Aunt  Rhody's  cabin  was  in 
flames  did  he  not  bring  out  one  of  the  negro  babies 
in  his  coat?  That  dare-devil  courage  which  had 
first  caught  her  girlish  fancy,  thrilled  her  even 
to-day  as  the  proof  of  an  ennobling  purpose.    She 


148  The  Battle-Ground 

remembered  that  he  had  gone  whistling  into  the 
burning  cabin,  and  coming  out  again  had  coolly 
taken  up  the  broken  air;  and  to  her  this  inherent 
recklessness  was  clothed  with  the  sublimity  of  her 
own  ideals. 

The  cold  wind  had  stiffened  her  limbs,  and  she  ran 
back  into  the  road  and  walked  on  rapidly.  Beyond 
the  whitened  foldings  of  the  mountains  a  deep  red 
glow  was  burning  in  the  west,  and  she  wanted  to 
hold  out  her  hands  to  it  for  warmth.  Her  next 
thought  was  that  a  winter  sunset  soon  died  out,  and 
as  she  turned  quickly  to  go  homeward,  she  saw  that 
she  was  before  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin,  and  that  the 
little  window  was  yellow  from  the  light  within. 

Aunt  Ailsey  had  been  dead  for  years,  but  the  free 
negro  Levi  had  moved  into  her  hut,  and  as  Betty 
looked  up  she  saw  him  standing  beneath  the  blasted 
oak,  with  a  bundle  of  brushwood  upon  his  shoulder. 
He  was  an  honest-eyed,  grizzled-haired  old  negro, 
who  wrung  his  meagre  living  from  a  blacksmith's 
trade,  bearing  alike  the  scornful  pity  of  his  white 
neighbours  and  the  withering  contempt  of  his  black 
ones.  For  twenty  years  he  had  moved  from  spot  to 
spot  along  the  turnpike,  and  he  had  lived  in  the 
dignity  of  loneliness  since  the  day  upon  which  his 
master  had  won  for  himself  the  freedom  of  Eternity, 
leaving  to  his  servant  Levi  the  labour  of  his  own 
hands. 

As  the  girl  spoke  to  him  he  answered  timidly,  fin- 
gering the  edge  of  his  ragged  coat. 

Yes,  he  had  managed  to  keep  warm  through  the 
winter,  and  he  had  worn  the  red  flannel  that  she  had 
given  him. 


Love  in  a  Maze  149 

"  And  your  rheumatism  ?  "  asked  Betty,  kindly. 

He  replied  that  it  had  been  growing  worse  of 
late,  and  with  a  sympathetic  word  the  girl  was  pass- 
ing by  when  some  newer  pathos  in  his  solitary  figure 
stayed  her  feet,  and  she  called  back  quickly,  "  Uncle 
Levi,  were  you  ever  married  ?  " 

"  Dar,  now,"  cried  Uncle  Levi,  halting  in  the  path 
while  a  gleam  of  the  wistful  humour  of  his  race 
leaped  to  his  eyes.  "  Dar,  now,  is  you  ever  hyern 
de  likes  er  dat  ?  Mah'ed !  Cose  Fse  mah'ed.  I'se 
mah'ed  quick' en  Marse  Boiling.  Ain't  you  never 
hyern  tell  er  Sarindy  ? " 

"  Sarindy  ?  "  repeated  the  girl,  questioningly. 

"  Lawd,  Lawd,  Sarindy  wuz  a  moughty  likely 
nigger,"  said  Uncle  Levi,  proudly ;  "  she  warn'  nut- 
tin'  but  a  fiel'  han',  but  she  'uz  a  moughty  likely 
nigger." 

"  And  did  she  die  ?  "  asked  Betty,  in  a  whisper. 

Uncle  Levi  rubbed  his  hands  together,  and  shifted 
the  brushwood  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Who  say  Sarindy  dead  ?  "  he  demanded  sternly, 
and  added  with  a  chuckle,  "  she  warn'  nuttin'  but  a 
fiel'  han',  young  miss,  en  I  'uz  Marse  Boiling's  body 
sarvent,  so  w'en  dey  sot  me  loose,  dey  des  sol'  Sa- 
rindy up  de  river.  Lawd,  Lawd,  she  warn'  nuttin' 
but  a  fiel'  han',  but  she  'uz  pow'ful  likely." 

He  went  chuckling  up  the  path,  and  Betty,  with  a 
glance  at  the  fading  sunset,  started  briskly  home- 
ward. As  she  walked  she  was  asking  herself,  in 
a  wonder  greater  than  her  own  love  or  grief,  if 
Uncle  Levi  really  thought  it  funny  that  they  sold 
Sarindy  up  the  ri\ser. 


ffi 

THE   MAJOR   LOSES   HIS   TEMPER 

When  Betty  reached  home  the  dark  had  fallen, 
and  as  she  entered  the  house  she  heard  the  crack- 
ling of  fresh  logs  from  the  library,  and  saw  her 
mother  sitting  alone  in  the  firelight,  which  flickered 
softly  on  her  pearl-gray  silk  and  ruffles  of  delicate 
lace. 

She  was  humming  in  a  low  voice  one  of  the  old 
Scotch  ballads  the  Governor  loved,  and  as  she  rocked 
gently  in  her  rosewood  chair,  her  shadow  flitted  to 
and  fro  upon  the  floor.  One  loose  bell  sleeve  hung 
over  the  carved  arm  of  the  rocker,  and  the  fingers 
of  her  long  white  hand,  so  fragile  that  it  was  like; 
a  flower,  played  silently  upon  the  polished  wood. 

As  the  girl  entered  she  looked  up  quickly.  "  You 
haven't  been  wandering  off  by  yourself  again  ?  "  she 
asked  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  safe,  mamma,"  replied  Betty,  im- 
patiently.   "  I  didn't  meet  a  soul  except  free  Levi." 

"  Your  father  wouldn't  like  it,  my  dear,"  returned 
Mrs.  Ambler,  in  the  tone  in  which  she  might  have 
said,  "  it  is  forbidden  in  the  Scriptures,"  and  she 
added  after  a  moment,  "  but  where  is  Petunia  ? 
iYou  might,  at  least,  take  Petunia  with  you." 

"  Petunia  is  such  a  chatterbox,"  said  Betty,  toss- 
ing her  wraps  upon  a  chair,  "  and  if  she  sees  a 

150 


The   Major  Loses   His  Temper       151 

cricket  in  the  road  she  shrieks,  '  Gawd  er  live,  Miss 
Betty,'  and  jumps  on  the  other  side  of  me.  No,  I 
can't  stand  Petunia." 

She  sat  down  upon  an  ottoman  at  her  mother's 
feet,  and  rested  her  chin  in  her  clasped  hands. 

"  But  did  you  never  go  walking  in  your  life, 
mamma  ?  "  she  questioned. 

Mrs.  Ambler  looked  a  little  startled.  "  Never 
alone,  my  dear,"  she  replied  with  dignity.  "  Why, 
I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  such  a  thing.  There 
was  a  path  to  a  little  arbour  in  the  glen  at  my  old 
home,  I  remember,  —  I  think  it  was  at  least  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away,  —  and  I  sometimes  strolled  there 
with  your  father;  but  there  were  a  good  many 
briers  about,  so  I  usually  preferred  to  stay  on  the 
lawn." 

Her  voice  was  clear  and  sweet,  but  it  had  none 
of  the  humour  which  gave  piquancy  to  Betty's.  It 
might  soothe,  caress,  even  reprimand,  but  it  could 
never  jest;  for  life  to  Mrs.  Ambler  was  soft,  yet 
serious,  like  a  continued  prayer  to  a  pleasant  and 
tender  Deity. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  how  you  stood  it,"  said 
Betty,  sympathetically. 

"  Oh,  I  rode,  my  dear,"  returned  her  mother.  "  I 
used  to  ride  very  often  with  your  father  or  —  or 
one  of  the  others.  I  had  a  brown  mare  named 
Zephyr." 

"  And  you  never  wanted  to  be  alone,  never  for 
a  single  instant  ?  " 

"  Alone  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Ambler,  wonderingly, 
"  why,  of  course  I  read  my  Bible  and  meditated  an 
hour  every  morning.     In  my  youth  it  would  have 


152  The  Battle-Ground 

been  considered  very  unladylike  not  to  do  it,  and 
I'm  sure  there's  no  better  way  of  beginning  the  day 
than  with  a  chapter  in  the  Bible  and  a  little  medi- 
tation. I  wish  you  would  try  it,  Betty."  Her 
eyes  were  upon  her  daughter,  and  she  added  in  an 
unchanged  voice,  "  Don't  you  think  you  might 
manage  to  make  your  hair  lie  smoother,  dear?  It's 
very  pretty,  I  know ;  but  the  way  it  curls  about  your 
face  is  just  a  bit  untidy,  isn't  it?" 

Then,  as  the  Governor  came  in  from  his  day  in 
town,  she  turned  eagerly  to  hear  the  news  of  his 
latest  speech. 

"  Oh,  I've  had  a  great  day,  Julia,"  began  the  Gov- 
ernor; but  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  her,  she  gave  a 
little  cry  of  alarm.  "  Why,  you're  frozen  through !  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  Betty,  stir  the  fire,  and  make 
your  father  sit  down  by  the  fender.  Shall  I  mix 
you  a  toddy,  Mr.  Ambler  ?  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  protested  the  Governor,  laughing, 
"  a  touch  of  the  wind  is  good  for  the  blood,  my 
dear." 

There  was  a  light  track  of  snow  where  he  had 
crossed  the  room,  and  as  he  rested  his  foot  upon  the 
brass  knob  of  the  fender,  the  ice  clinging  to  his 
riding-boot  melted  and  ran  down  upon  the  hearth. 

"  Oh,  I've  had  a  great  day,"  he  repeated  heartily, 
holding  his  plump  white  hands  to  the  flames.  "  It 
was  worth  the  trip  to  test  the  spirit  of  Virginia; 
and  it's  sound,  Julia,  as  sound  as  steel.  Why,  when 
I  said  in  my  speech  —  you'll  remember  the  place, 
my  dear  —  that  if  it  came  to  a  choice  between  slav- 
ery and  the  Union,  we'd  ship  the  negroes  back  to 
Africa,  and  hold  on  to  the  flag,  I  was  applauded 


The  Major  Loses  His  Temper      153 

to  the  echo,  and  it  would  have  done  you  good  to 
hear  the  cheers." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so,  Mr.  Ambler,"  returned 
his  wife,  with  conviction.  "  Even  if  they  thought 
otherwise  I  was  sure  your  speech  would  convince 
them.  Dr.  Crump  was  talking  to  me  only  yester- 
day, and  he  said  that  he  had  heard  both  Mr.  Yancey 
and  Mr.  Douglas,  and  that  neither  of  them  —  " 

"  I  know,  my  love,  I  know,"  interposed  the 
Governor,  waving  his  hand.  "  I  have  myself  heard 
the  good  doctor  commit  the  same  error  of  judg- 
ment. But,  remember,  it  is  easy  to  convince  a  man 
who  already  thinks  as  you  do;  and  since  the 
Major  has  gone  over  to  the  Democrats,  the  doctor 
has  grown  Whiggish,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Ambler  flushed.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  deny  that  you  have  a  talent  for  oratory," 
she  said  gravely.  "  I  have  sometimes  thought  it  was 
why  I  fell  in  love  with  you,  you  made  such  a 
beautiful  speech  the  first  day  I  met  you  at  the  tour- 
nament in  Leicesterburg.  Fred  Dulany  crowned 
me,  you  remember ;  and  in  your  speech  you  brought 
in  so  many  lovely  things  about  flowers  and  women." 

"  Ah,  Julia,  Julia,"  sighed  the  Governor,  "  so  the 
sins  of  my  youth  are  rising  to  confound  me,"  and 
he  added  quickly  to  Betty,  "  Isn't  that  some  one 
coming  up  the  drive,  daughter  ? " 

Betty  ran  to  the  window  and  drew  back  the 
damask  curtains.  "  It's  the  Major,  papa,"  she  said, 
nodding  to  the  old  gentleman  through  the  glass, 
"  and  he  does  look  so  cold.  Go  out  and  bring  him 
in,  and  don't  —  please  don't  talk  horrid  politics 
to-night." 


154  The  Battle-Ground 

"  I'll  not,  daughter,  on  my  word,  I'll  not,"  de- 
clared the  Governor,  and  he  wore  the  warning  as  a 
breastplate  when  he  went  out  to  meet  his  guest. 

The  Major,  in  his  tight  black  broadcloth,  entered, 
with  his  blandest  smile,  and  bowed  over  Mrs.  Am- 
bler's hand. 

"  I  saw  your  firelight  as  I  was  passing, 
dear  madam,"  he  began,  "  and  I  couldn't  go  on 
without  a  glimpse  of  you,  though  I  knew  that  Molly 
was  waiting  for  me  at  the  end  of  three  cold  miles." 

He  put  his  arm  about  Betty  and  drew  her  to 
him. 

"  You  must  borrow  some  of  your  sister's  blushes, 
my  child,"  he  said ;  "  it  isn't  right  to  grow  pale  at 
your  age.  I  don't  like  to  see  it,"  and  then,  as  Vir- 
ginia came  shyly  in,  he  held  out  his  other  hand, 
and  accused  her  of  stealing  his  boy's  heart  away 
from  him.  "  But  we  old  folks  must  give  place  to 
the  young,"  he  continued  cheerfully ;  "  it's  nature, 
and  it's  human  nature,  too." 

"  It  will  be  a  dull  day  when  you  give  place  to 
any  one  else,  Major,"  returned  the  Governor,  po- 
litely. 

"  And  a  far  off  one  I  trust,"  added  Mrs.  Ambler, 
with  her  plaintive  smile. 

"  Well,  maybe  so,"  responded  the  Major,  settling 
himself  in  an  easy  chair  beside  the  fire.  "  Any  way, 
you  can't  blame  an  old  man  for  fighting  for  his 
own,  as  my  friend  Harry  Smith  put  it  when  he  lost 
his  leg  in  the  War  of  1812.  'By  God,  it  belongs  to 
me,'  he  roared  to  the  surgeon,  ■  and  if  it  comes  off, 
I'll  take  it  off  myself,  sir.'  It  took  six  men  to  hold 
him,    and    when    it    was    over    all  he  said  was, 


The  Major  Loses  His  Temper      155 

'  Well,  gentlemen,  you  mustn't  blame  a  man  for 
fighting  for  his  own.'  Ah,  he  was  a  sad  scamp, 
was  Harry,  a  sad  scamp.  He  used  to  say  that  he 
didn't  know  whether  he  preferred  a  battle  or  a 
dinner,  but  he  reckoned  a  battle  was  better  for  the 
blood.  And  to  think  that  he  died  in  his  bed  at  last 
like  any  Christian." 

"  That  reminds  me  of  Dick  Wythe,  who  never 
needed  any  tonic  but  a  fight,"  returned  the  Gover- 
nor, thoughtfully.  "  You  remember  Dick,  don't 
you,  Major?  —  a  hard  drinker,  poor  fellow,  but 
handsome  enough  to  have  stepped  out  of  Homer. 
I've  been  sitting  by  him  at  the  post-office  on  a 
spring  day,  and  seen  him  get  up  and  slap  a  passer- 
by on  the  face  as  coolly  as  he'd  take  his  toddy.  Of 
course  the  man  would  slap  back  again,  and 
when  it  was  over  Dick  would  make  his  politest 
bow,  and  say  pleasantly,  '  Thank  you,  sir,  I  felt  a 
touch  of  the  gout.'  He  told  me  once  that  if  it  was 
only  a  twinge,  he  chose  a  man  of  his  own  size ;  but 
if  it  was  a  positive  wrench,  he  struck  out  at  the 
biggest  he  could  find." 

The  Major  leaned  back,  laughing.  "  That  was 
Dick,  sir,  that  was  Dick ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  and 
it  was  his  father  before  him.  Why,  I've  had  my 
own  blows  with  Taylor  Wythe  in  his  day,  and  never 
a  hard  word  afterward,  never  a  word."  Then  his 
face  clouded.  "  I  saw  Dick's  brother  Tom  in  town 
this  morning,"  he  added.  "  A  sneaking  fellow,  who 
hasn't  the  spirit  in  his  whole  body  that  was  in  his 
father's  little  finger.  Why,  what  do  you  suppose 
he  had  the  impudence  to  tell  me,  sir  ?  Some  one  had 
asked  him,  he  said,  what  he  should  do  if  Virginia 


156  The  Battle-Ground 

went  to  war,  and  he  had  answered  that  he'd  stay 
at  home  and  build  an  asylum  for  the  fools  that 
brought  it  on."  He  turned  his  indignant  face  upon 
Mrs.  Ambler,  and  she  put  in  a  modest  word  of 
sympathy. 

"  You  mustn't  judge  Tom  by  his  jests,  sir," 
rejoined  the  Governor,  persuasively.  "  His  wit 
takes  with  the  town  folks,  you  know,  and  I  hear 
that  he's  becoming  famous  as  a  post-office  orator." 

"  There  it  is,  sir,  there  it  is,"  retorted  the  Major. 
"  I've  always  said  that  the  post-offices  were  the  ruin 
of  this  country  —  and  that  proves  my  words.  Why, 
if  there  were  no  post-offices,  there'd  be  fewer  news- 
papers ;  and  if  there  were  fewer  newspapers,  there 
wouldn't  be  the  Richmond  Whig." 

The  Governor's  glance  wandered  to  his  writing 
table. 

"  Then  I  should  never  see  my  views  in  print, 
Major,"  he  added,  smiling;  and  a  moment  after- 
ward, disregarding  Mrs.  Ambler's  warning  ges- 
tures, he  plunged  headlong  into  a  discussion  of  po- 
litical conditions. 

As  he  talked  the  Major  sat  trembling  in  his  chair, 
his  stern  face  flushing  from  red  to  purple,  and 
the  heavy  veins  upon  his  forehead  standing  out 
like  cords.  "  Vote  for  Douglas,  sir !  "  he  cried 
at  last.  "  Vote  for  the  biggest  traitor  that  has  gone 
scot  free  since  Arnold!  Why,  I'd  sooner  go  over 
to  the  arch-fiend  himself  and  vote  for  Seward." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  you  won't  go  farther  and  fare 
worse,"  replied  the  Governor,  gravely.  "  You  know 
me  for  a  loyal  Whig,  sir,  but  I  tell  you  frankly, 
that  I  believe  Douglas  to  be  the  man  to  save  the 


The  Major  Loses  His  Temper      157 

South.  Cast  him  off,  and  you  cast  off  your  remain- 
ing hope." 

"Tush,  tush!"  retorted  the  Major,  hotly.  "I 
tell  you  I  wouldn't  vote  to  have  Douglas  President 
of  Perdition,  sir.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  your  loy- 
alty, Peyton  Ambler,  you're  mad  —  you're  all  mad ! 
I  honestly  believe  that  I  am  the  only  sane  man  in  the 
state." 

The  Governor  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was 
walking  nervously  about  the  room.  His  eyes  were 
dim,  and  his  face  was  pallid  with  emotion. 

"  My  God,  sir,  don't  you  see  where  you  are  drift- 
ing ?  "  he  cried,  stretching  out  an  appealing  hand  to 
the  angry  old  gentleman  in  the  easy  chair. 

"Drifting!  Pooh,  pooh!"  protested  the  Major, 
"  at  least  I  am  not  drifting  into  a  nest  of  traitors, 
sir." 

And  with  his  wrath  hot  within  he  rose  to  take 
his  leave,  very  red  and  stormy,  but  retaining  the 
presence  of  mind  to  assure  Mrs.  Ambler  that  the 
glimpse  of  her  fireside  would  send  him  rejoicing 
upon  his  way. 

Such  burning  topics  went  like  strong  wine  to  his 
head,  and  like  strong  wine  left  a  craving  which 
always  carried  him  back  to  them  in  the  end.  He 
would  quarrel  with  the  Governor,  and  make  his 
peace,  and  at  the  next  meeting  quarrel,  without 
peace-making,  again. 

"  Don't,  oh,  please  don't  talk  horrid  politics, 
papa,"  Betty  would  implore,  when  she  saw  the  nose 
of  his  dapple  mare  turn  into  the  drive  between  the 
silver  poplars. 

"  I'll  not,  daughter,  I  give  you  my  word  I'll  not," 


158  The  Battle-Ground 

the  Governor  would  answer,  and  for  a  time  the 
conversation  would  jog  easily  along  the  well  worn 
roads  of  county  changes  and  by  the  green  graves 
of  many  a  long  dead  jovial  neighbour.  While  the 
red  logs  spluttered  on  the  hearth,  they  would  sip 
their  glasses  of  Madeira  and  amicably  weigh  the 
dust  of  "  my  friend  Dick  Wythe  —  a  fine  fellow,  in 
spite  of  his  little  weakness." 

But  in  the  end  the  live  question  would  rear  its 
head  and  come  hissing  from  among  the  quiet 
graves ;  and  Dick  Wythe,  who  loved  his  fight,  or 
Plaintain  Dudley,  in  his  ruffled  shirt,  would  fall 
back  suddenly  to  make  way  for  the  wrangling  fig- 
ures of  the  slaveholder  and  the  abolitionist. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Betty,  I  can't  help  it,"  the  Gov- 
ernor would  declare,  when  he  came  back  from  fol- 
lowing the  old  gentleman  to  the  drive ;  "  did  you 
see  Mr.  Yancey  step  out  of  Dick  Wythe's  dry  bones 
to-day?  Poor  Dick,  an  honest  fellow  who  loved 
no  man's  quarrel  but  his  own;  it's  too  bad,  I  de- 
clare it's  too  bad."  And  the  next  day  he  would  send 
Betty  over  to  Chericoke  to  stroke  down  the  Major's 
temper.  "  Slippery  are  the  paths  of  the  peace- 
maker," the  girl  laughed  one  morning,  when  she 
had  ridden  home  after  an  hour  of  persuasion.  "  I 
go  on  tip-toe  because  of  your  indiscretions,  papa. 
You  really  must  learn  to  control  yourself,  the  Major 
says." 

"  Control  myself !  "  repeated  the  Governor,  laugh- 
ing, though  he  looked  a  little  vexed.  "  If  I  hadn't 
the  control  of  a  stoic,  daughter,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  patience  of  Job,  do  you  think  I'd  be  able 
to  listen  calmly  to  his  tirades?    Why,  he  wants  to 


The   Major  Loses  His  Temper      159 

pull  the  Government  to  pieces  for  his  pleasure," 
then  he  pinched  her  cheek  and  added,  smiling, 
"  Oh,  you  sly  puss,  why  don't  you  play  your  pranks 
upon  one  of  your  own  age  ? " 

Through  the  long  winter  many  visits  were  ex- 
changed between  Uplands  and  Chericoke,  and  once, 
on  a  mild  February  morning,  Mrs.  Lightfoot  drove 
over  in  her  old  coach,  with  her  knitting  and  her 
handmaid  Mitty,  to  spend  the  day.  She  took  Betty 
back  with  her,  and  the  girl  stayed  a  week  in  the 
queer  old  house,  where  the  elm  boughs  tapped  upon 
her  window  as  she  slept,  and  the  shadows  on  the 
crooked  staircase  frightened  her  when  she  went  up 
and  down  at  night.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  pres- 
ence of  Jane  Lightfoot  still  haunted  the  home  that 
she  had  left.  When  the  snow  fell  on  the  roof  and 
the  wind  beat  against  the  panes,  she  would  open 
her  door  and  look  out  into  the  long  dim  halls,  as  if 
she  half  expected  to  see  a  girlish  figure  in  a  muslin 
gown  steal  softly  to  the  stair. 

Dan  was  less  with  her  in  that  stormy  week  than 
was  the  memory  of  his  mother;  even  Great-aunt 
Emmeline,  whose  motto  was  written  on  the  ivied 
glass,  grew  faint  beside  the  outcast  daughter  of 
whom  but  one  pale  miniature  remained.  Before 
Betty  went  back  to  Uplands  she  had  grown  to  know 
Jane  Lightfoot  as  she  knew  herself. 

When  the  spring  came  she  took  up  her  trowel 
and  followed  Aunt  Lydia  into  the  garden.  On 
bright  mornings  the  two  would  work  side  by  side 
among  the  flowers,  kneeling  in  a  row  with  the  small 
darkies  who  came  to  their  assistance.  Peter,  the 
gardener,  would  watch  them  lazily,  as  he  leaned 


160  The  Battle-Ground 

upon  his  hoe,  and  mutter  beneath  his  breath,  "  Dat 
dut  wuz  dut,  en  de  dut  er  de  flow'r  baids  warn'  no 
better'n  de  dut  er  de  co'n  fiel'." 

Betty  would  laugh  and  shake  her  head  as  she 
planted  her  square  of  pansies.  She  was  working 
feverishly  to  overcome  her  longing  for  the  sight 
of  Dan,  and  her  growing  dread  of  his  return.. 

But  at  last  on  a  sunny  morning,  when  the  lilacs 
made  a  lane  of  purple  to  the  road,  the  Major  drove 
over  with  the  news  that  "  the  boys  would  not  be 
back  again  till  autumn.  They'll  go  abroad  for  the 
summer,"  he  added  proudly.  "  It's  time  they  were 
seeing  something  of  the  world,  you  know.  I've  al- 
ways said  that  a  man  should  see  the  world  before 
thirty,  if  he  wants  to  stay  at  home  after  forty," 
then  he  smiled  down  on  Virginia,  and  pinched  her 
cheek.  "  It  won't  hurt  Dan,  my  dear,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "  Let  him  get  a  glimpse  of  artificial 
flowers,  that  he  may  learn  the  value  of  our  own 
beauties." 

"Of  Great-aunt  Emmeline,  you  mean,  sir,"  re- 
plied Virginia,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  child,"  chuckled  the  Major.  "  Let 
him  learn  the  value  of  Great-aunt  Emmeline,  by  all 
means." 

When  the  old  gentleman  had  gone,  Betty  went 
into  the  garden,  where  the  grass  was  powdered 
with  small  spring  flowers,  and  gathered  a  bunch 
of  white  violets  for  her  mother.  Aunt  Lydia  was 
walking  slowly  up  and  down  in  the  mild  sunshine, 
and  her  long  black  shadow  passed  over  the  girl  as 
she  knelt  in  the  narrow  grass-grown  path.  A  slen- 
der spray  of  syringa  drooped  down  upon  her  head, 


The  Major  Loses  His  Temper      161 

and  the  warm  wind  was  sweet  with  the  heavy 
perfume  of  the  lilacs.  On  the  whitewashed  fence 
a  catbird  was  calling  over  the  meadow,  and  another 
answered  from  the  little  bricked-up  graveyard, 
where  the  gate  was  opened  only  when  a  fresh  grave 
was  to  be  hollowed  out  amid  the  periwinkle. 

As  Betty  knelt  there,  something  in  the  warm 
wind,  the  heavy  perfume,  or  the  old  lady's  flitting 
shadow  touched  her  with  a  sudden  melancholy, 
and  while  the  tears  lay  upon  her  lashes,  she  started 
quickly  to  her  feet  and  looked  about  her.  But  a 
great  peace  was  in  the  air,  and  around  her  she 
saw  only  the  garden  wrapped  in  sunshine,  the  small 
spring  flowers  in  bloom,  and  Aunt  Lydia  moving 
up  and  down  in  the  box-bordered  walk. 


VI 


THE   MEETING   IN  THE  TURNPIKE 

On  a  late  September  afternoon  Dan  rode  leisurely 
homeward  along  the  turnpike.  He  had  reached 
New  York  some  days  before,  but  instead  of  hur- 
rying on  with  Champe,  he  had  sent  a  careless  apol- 
ogy to  his  expectant  grandparents  while  he  waited 
over  to  look  up  a  missing  trunk. 

"  Oh,  what  difference  does  a  day  make  ? " 
he  had  urged  in  reply  to  Champe's  remonstrances, 
"  and  after  going  all  the  way  to  Paris,  I  can't  afford 
to  lose  my  clothes,  you  know.  I'm  not  a  Leander, 
my  boy,  and  there's  no  Hero  awaiting  me.  You 
can't  expect  a  fellow  to  sacrifice  the  proprieties  for 
his  grandmother." 

"  Well,  I'm  going,  that's  all,"  rejoined  Champe, 
and  Dan  heartily  responded,  "  God  be  with  you,"  as 
he  shook  his  hand. 

Now,  as  he  rode  slowly  up  the  turnpike  on  a 
hired  horse,  he  was  beginning  to  regret,  with  an 
impatient  self-reproach,  the  three  tiresome  days  he 
had  stolen  from  his  grandfather's  delight.  It  was 
characteristic  of  him  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  that 
he  began  to  regret  what  appeared  to  be  a  pleasure 
only  after  it  had  proved  to  be  a  disappointment. 
Had  the  New  York  days  been  gay  instead  of  dull, 
it  is  probable  that  he  would  have  ridden  home  with 

162 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike       163 

an  easy  conscience  and  a  lordly  belief  that  there 
was  something  generous  in  the  spirit  of  his  coming 
back  at  all. 

A  damp  wind  was  blowing  straight  along  the 
turnpike,  and  the  autumn  fields,  brilliant  with 
golden-rod  and  sumach,  stretched  under  a  sky  which 
had  clouded  over  so  suddenly  that  the  last  rays  of 
sun  were  still  shining  upon  the  mountains. 

He  had  left  Uplands  a  mile  behind,  throwing,  as 
he  passed,  a  wistful  glance  between  the  silver  pop- 
lars. A  pink  dress  had  fluttered  for  an  instant  be- 
yond the  Doric  columns,  and  he  had  wondered  idly 
if  it  meant  Virginia,  and  if  she  were  still  the 
pretty  little  simpleton  of  six  months  ago.  At  the 
thought  of  her  he  threw  back  his  head  and  whis- 
tled gayly  into  the  threatening  sky,  so  gayly  that 
a  bluebird  flying  across  the  road  hovered  round 
him  in  the  air.  The  joy  of  living  possessed  him  at 
the  moment,  a  mere  physical  delight  in  the  circula- 
tion of  his  blood,  in  the  healthy  beating  of  his 
pulses.  Old  things  which  he  had  half  forgotten 
appealed  to  him  suddenly  with  all  the  force  of  fresh 
impressions.  The  beauty  of  the  September  fields, 
the  long  curve  in  the  white  road  where  the  tuft  of 
cedars  grew,  the  falling  valley  which  went  down 
between  the  hills,  stood  out  for  him  as  if  bathed  in 
a  new  and  tender  light.  The  youth  in  him  was 
looking  through  his  eyes. 

And  the  thought  of  Virginia  went  merrily  with 
his  mood.  What  a  pretty  little  simpleton  she  was, 
by  George,  and  what  a  dull  world  this  would  be 
were  it  not  for  the  pretty  simpletons  in  pink 
dresses !    Why,  in  that  case  one  might  as  well  sit  in 


164  The  Battle-Ground 

a  library  and  read  Horace  and  wear  red  flannel. 
One  might  as  well  —  a  drop  of  rain  fell  in  his  face 
and  he  lowered  his  head.  When  he  did  so  he  saw 
that  Betty  was  coming  along  the  turnpike,  and  that 
she  wore  a  dress  of  blue  dimity. 

In  a  flash  of  light  his  first  wonder  was  that  he 
should  ever  have  preferred  pink  to  blue ;  his  second 
that  a  girl  in  a  dimity  gown  and  a  white  chip  bon- 
net should  be  fleeing  from  a  storm  along  the  turn- 
pike. As  he  jumped  from  his  horse  he  faced  her  a 
little  anxiously. 

"  There's  a  hard  shower  coming,  and  you'll  be 
wet,"  he  said. 

"  And  my  bonnet !  "  cried  Betty,  breathlessly. 
She  untied  the  blue  strings  and  swung  them  over 
her  arm.  There  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks,  and  as 
he  drew  nearer  she  fell  back  quickly. 

"  You  —  you  came  so  suddenly,"  she  stam- 
mered. 

He  laughed  aloud.  "  Doesn't  the  Prince  always 
come  suddenly  ? "  he  asked.  "  You  are  like  the 
wandering  princess  in  the  fairy  tale  —  all  in  blue 
upon  a  lonely  road;  but  this  isn't  just  the  place 
for  loitering,  you  know.  Come  up  behind  me  and 
I'll  carry  you  to  shelter  in  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin; 
it  isn't  the  first  time  I've  run  away  with  you,  re- 
member." He  lifted  her  upon  the  horse,  and 
started  at  a  gallop  up  the  turnpike.  "  I'm  afraid 
the  steed  doesn't  take  the  romantic  view,"  he  went 
on  lightly.  "  There,  get  up,  Barebones,  the  lady 
doesn't  want  to  wet  her  bonnet.  Lean  against  me, 
Betty,  and  I'll  try  to  shelter  you." 

But  the  rain  was  in  their  faces,  and  Betty  shut 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike      165 

her  eyes  to  keep  out  the  hard  bright  drops.  As  she 
clung  with  both  hands  to  his  arm,  her  wet  cheek 
was  hidden  against  his  coat,  and  the  blue  ribbons  on 
her  breast  were  blown  round  them  in  the  wind.  It 
was  as  if  one  of  her  dreams  had  awakened  from 
sleep  and  come  boldly  out  into  the  daylight;  and 
because  it  was  like  a  dream  she  trembled  and  wa6 
half  ashamed  of  its  reality. 

"  Here  we  are ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  moment, 
as  he  turned  the  horse  round  the  blasted  tree  into 
the  little  path  amid  the  vegetables.  "  If  you  are 
soaked  through,  we  might  as  well  go  on;  but  if 
you're  half  dry,  build  a  fire  and  get  warm."  He 
put  her  down  upon  the  square  stone  before  the  door- 
way, and  slipping  the  reins  over  the  branch  of  a 
young  willow  tree,  followed  her  into  the  cabin. 
"  Why,  you're  hardly  damp,"  he  said,  with  his  hand 
on  her  arm.    "  I  got  the  worst  of  it." 

He  crossed  over  to  the  great  open  fireplace,  and 
kneeling  upon  the  hearth  raked  a  hollow  in  the  old 
ashes ;  then  he  kindled  a  blaze  from  a  pile  of  light- 
wood  knots,  and  stood  up  brushing  his  hands  to- 
gether. "  Sit  down  and  get  warm,"  he  said  hos- 
pitably. "  If  I  may  take  upon  myself  to  do  the  du- 
ties of  free  Levi's  castle,  I  should  even  invite  you  to 
make  yourself  at  home."  With  a  laugh  he  glanced 
about  the  bare  little  room,  —  at  the  uncovered  raf- 
ters, the  rough  log  walls,  and  the  empty  cupboard 
with  its  swinging  doors.  In  one  corner  there  was 
a  pallet  hidden  by  a  ragged  patchwork  quilt,  and  fac- 
ing it  a  small  pine  table  upon  which  stood  an  ash- 
cake  ready  for  the  embers. 

The  laughter  was  still  in  his  eyes  when  he  looked 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 8 


1 66  The  Battle-Ground 

at  Betty.  "  Now  where's  the  sense  of  going  walking 
in  the  rain  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  didn't,"  replied  Betty,  quickly.  "  It  was  clear 
when  I  started,  and  the  clouds  came  up  before  I 
knew  it.  I  had  been  across  the  fields  to  the  woods, 
and  I  was  coming  home  along  the  turnpike."  She 
loosened  her  hair,  and  kneeling  upon  the  smooth 
stones,  dried  it  before  the  flames.  As  she  shook  the 
curling  ends  a  sparkling  shower  of  rain  drops  was 
scattered  over  Dan. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  much  sense  in  that,"  he  re- 
turned slowly,  with  his  gaze  upon  her. 

She  laughed  and  held  out  her  moist  hands  to 
the  fire.  "  Well,  there  was  more  than  you  see," 
she  responded  pleasantly,  and  added,  while  she 
smiled  at  him  with  narrowed  eyes,  "  dear  me,  you've 
grown  so  much  older." 

"  And  you've  grown  so  much  prettier,"  he  re- 
torted boldly. 

A  flush  crossed  her  face,  and  her  look  grew  a 
little  wistful.  "  The  rain  has  bewitched  you,"  she 
said. 

"  You  may  call  me  a  fool  if  you  like,"  he  pur- 
sued, as  if  she  had  not  spoken,  "  but  I  did  not  know 
until  to-day  that  you  had  the  most  beautiful  hair 
in  the  world.  Why,  it  is  always  sunshine  about 
you."  He  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  a  loose  curl 
that  hung  upon  her  shoulder,  then  drew  it  quickly 
back.  "  I  don't  suppose  I  might,"  he  asked 
humbly. 

Betty  gathered  up  her  hair  with  shaking  hands, 
which  gleamed  white  in  the  firelight,  and  carelessly 
twisted  it  about  her  head. 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike       167 

"  It  is  not  nearly  so  pretty  as  Virginia's,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Virginia's  ?  Oh,  nonsense !  "  he  exclaimed, 
and  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room. 

Beyond  the  open  door  the  rain  fell  heavily;  he 
heard  it  beating  softly  on  the  roof  and  dripping 
down  upon  the  smooth  square  stone  before  the 
threshold.  A  red  maple  leaf  was  washed  in  from 
the  path  and  lay  a  wet  bit  of  colour  upon  the  floor. 
"  I  wonder  where  old  man  Levi  is  ? "  he  said  sud- 
denly. 

"  In  the  rain,  I'm  afraid,"  Betty  answered,  "  and 
he  has  rheumatism,  too;  he  was  laid  up  for  three 
months  last  winter." 

She  spoke  quietly,  but  she  was  conscious  of  a 
quiver  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  a  strong  wind  had 
swept  over  her.  Through  the  doorway  she  saw  the 
young  willow  tree  trembling  in  the  storm  and  felt 
curiously  akin  to  it. 

Dan  came  slowly  back  to  the  hearth,  and  leaning 
against  the  crumbling  mortar  of  the  chimney, 
looked  thoughtfully  down  upon  her.  "  Do  you 
know  what  I  thought  of  when  I  saw  you  with  your 
hair  down,  Betty  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I'd  thought  of  it  for  years,"  he 
went  on  quickly ;  "  but  when  you  took  your  hair 
down,  and  looked  up  at  me  so  small  and  white, 
it  all  came  back  to  me  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  I 
remembered  the  night  I  first  came  along  this  road 
—  God-forsaken  little  chap  that  I  was  —  and  saw 
you  standing  out  there  in  your  nightgown  —  with 
your  little  cold  bare  feet.    The  moonlight  was  full 


1 68  The  Battlc-Ground 

upon  you,  and  I  thought  you  were  a  ghost.  At  first  I 
wanted  to  run  away ;  but  you  spoke,  and  I  stood  still 
and  listened.  I  remember  what  it  was,  Betty.  — 
'  Mr.  Devil,  I'm  going  in/  you  said.  Did  you 
take  me  for  the  devil,  I  wonder?" 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  and  he  saw  her  kind  eyes 
fill  with  tears.  The  wavering  smile  only  deepened 
the  peculiar  tenderness  of  her  look. 

"  I  had  been  sitting  in  the  briers  for  an  hour,"  he 
resumed,  after  a  moment ;  "  it  was  a  day  and  night 
since  I  had  eaten  a  bit  of  bread,  and  I  had  been 
digging  up  sassafras  roots  with  my  bare  fingers. 
I  remember  that  I  rooted  at  one  for  nearly  an  hour, 
and  found  that  it  was  sumach,  after  all.  Then  I  got 
up  and  went  on  again,  and  there  you  were  standing 
in  the  moonlight  — "  He  broke  off,  hesitated  an 
instant,  and  added  with  the  gallant  indiscretion  of 
youth,  "  By  George,  that  ought  to  have  made  a 
man  of  me !  " 

"  And  you  are  a  man,"  said  Betty. 

"  A  man ! "  he  appeared  to  snap  his  fingers  at 
the  thought.  "  I  am  a  weather-vane,  a  leaf  in  the 
wind,  a  —  an  ass.  I  haven't  known  my  own  mind 
ten  minutes  during  the  last  two  years,  and  the  only 
thing  I've  ever  gone  honestly  about  is  my  own 
pleasure.  Oh,  yes,  I  have  the  courage  of  my  in- 
clinations, I  admit." 

"  But  I  don't  understand  —  what  does  it  mean  ? 
—  I  don't  understand,"  faltered  Betty,  vaguely 
troubled  by  his  mood. 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  it  means  that  I've  been  ruined, 
and  it's  too  late  to  mend  me.  I'm  no  better  than 
a  pampered  poodle  dog.    It  means  that  I've  gotten 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike       169 

everything  I  wanted,  until  I  begin  to  fancy  there's 
nothing  under  heaven  I  can't  get."  Then,  in  one 
of  his  quick  changes  of  temper,  his  face  cleared  with 
a  burst  of  honest  laughter. 

She  grew  merry  instantly,  and  as  she  smiled  up  at 
him,  he  saw  her  eyes  like  rays  of  hazel  light  be- 
tween her  lashes.  "Has  the  black  crow  gone?" 
she  asked.  "  Do  you  know  when  I  have  a  gray 
day  Mammy  calls  it  the  black  crow  flying  by.  As 
long  as  his  shadow  is  over  you,  there's  always 
a  gloom  at  the  brain,  she  says.  Has  he  quite  gone 
by?" 

"  Oh,  he  flew  by  quickly,"  he  answered,  laughing, 
"  he  didn't  even  stay  to  flap  his  wings."  Then  he 
became  suddenly  grave.  "  I  wonder  what  kind  of 
a  man  you'll  fall  in  love  with,  Betty  ? "  he  said 
abruptly. 

She  drew  back  startled,  and  her  eyes  reminded 
him  of  those  of  a  frightened  wild  thing  he  had 
come  upon  in  the  spring  woods  one  day.  As  she 
shrank  from  him  in  her  dim  blue  dress,  her  hair 
fell  from  its  coil  and  lay  like  a  gold  bar  across 
her  bosom,  which  fluttered  softly  with  her  quick- 
ened breath. 

"  I  ?    Why,  how  can  I  tell  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He'll  not  be  black  and  ugly,  I  dare  say?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  regaining  her  composure. 

"  Oh,  no,  fair  and  beautiful,"  she  answered. 

"  Ah,  as  unlike  me  as  day  from  night  ?  " 

"  As  day  from  night,"  she  echoed,  and  went  on 
after  a  moment,  her  girlish  visions  shining  in  her 
eyes : — 

"  He  will  be  a  man,  at  least,"  she  said  slowly,  "a 


170  The  Battlc-Ground 

man  with  a  faith  to  fight  for  —  to  live  for  —  to 
make  him  noble.  He  may  be  a  beggar  by  the  road- 
side, but  he  will  be  a  beggar  with  dreams.  He  will 
be  forever  travelling  to  some  great  end  —  some 
clear  purpose."  The  last  words  came  so  faintly 
that  he  bent  nearer  to  hear.  A  deep  flush  swept 
to  her  forehead,  and  she  turned  from  him  to  the 
fire.  These  were  things  that  she  had  hidden  even 
from  Virginia. 

But  as  he  looked  steadily  down  upon  her, 
something  of  her  own  pure  fervour  was  in  his  face. 
Her  vivid  beauty  rose  like  a  flame  to  his  eyes,  and 
for  a  single  instant  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
never  looked  upon  a  woman  until  to-day. 

"  So  you  would  sit  with  him  in  the  dust  of  the 
roadside  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  But  the  dust  is  beautiful  when  the  sun  shines 
on  it,"  answered  the  girl;  "and  on  wet  days  we 
should  go  into  the  pine  woods,  and  on  fair  ones 
rest  in  the  open  meadows ;  and  we  should  sing 
with  the  robins,  and  make  friends  with  the  little 
foxes." 

He  laughed  softly.  "Ah,  Betty,  Betty,  I  know 
you  now  for  a  dreamer  of  dreams.  With  all  your 
pudding-mixing  and  your  potato-planting  you  are 
moon-mad  like  the  rest  of  us." 

She  made  a  disdainful  little  gesture.  "  Why,  I 
never  planted  a  potato  in  my  life." 

"  Don't  scoff,  dear  lady,"  he  returned  warningly ; 
"  too  great  literalness  is  the  sin  of  womankind,  you 
know." 

"  But  I  don't  care  in  the  least  for  vegetable-grow- 
ing," she  persisted  seriously. 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike       171 

The  humour  twinkled  in  his  eyes.  "  Thriftless 
woman,  would  you  prefer  to  beg  ?  " 

"  When  the  Major  rode  by,"  laughed  Betty ;  "  but 
when  I  heard  you  coming,  I'd  lie  hidden  among  the 
briers,  and  I'd  scatter  signs  for  other  gypsies  that 
read,  '  Beware  the  Montjoy.'  " 

His  face  darkened  and  he  frowned.  "  So  it's  the 
Montjoy  you're  afraid  of,"  he  rejoined  gloomily. 
"  I'm  not  all  Lightfoot,  though  I'm  apt  to  forget  it ; 
the  Montjoy  blood  is  there,  all  the  same,  and  it  isn't 
good  blood." 

"  Your  blood  is  good,"  said  Betty,  warmly. 

He  laughed  again  and  met  her  eyes  with  a  look 
of  whimsical  tenderness.  "  Make  me  your  beggar, 
Betty,"  he  prayed,  smiling. 

"  You  a  beggar !  "  She  shook  a  scornful  head. 
"  I  can  shut  my  eyes  and  see  your  fortune,  sir,  and 
it  doesn't  lie  upon  the  roadside.  I  see  a  well- 
fed  country  gentleman  who  rises  late  to  break- 
fast and  storms  when  the  birds  are  overdone,  who 
drinks  his  two  cups  of  coffee  and  eats  syrup  upon 
his  cakes  —  " 

"  O  pleasant  prophetess ! "  he  threw  in. 

"  I  look  and  see  him  riding  over  the  rich  fields 
in  the  early  morning,  watching  from  horseback  the 
planting  and  the  growing  and  the  ripening  of  the 
corn.  He  has  a  dozen  servants  to  fetch  the  whip 
he  drops,  and  a  dozen  others  to  hold  his  bridle  when 
he  pleases  to  dismount ;  the  dogs  leap  round  him  in 
the  drive,  and  he  brushes  away  the  one  that  licks  his 
face.  I  see  him  grow  stout  and  red-faced  as  he 
reads  a  dull  Latin  volume  beside  his  bottle  of  old 
port  —  there's  your  fortune,  sir,  the  silver,  if  you 


172  The  Battle-Ground 

please."  She  finished  in  a  whining  voice,  and  rose 
to  drop  a  courtesy. 

"  On  my  word,  you're  a  witch,  Betty,"  he  ex- 
claimed, laughing,  "  a  regular  witch  on  a  broom- 
stick." 

"  Does  the  likeness  flatter  you  ?  Shall  I  touch 
it  up  a  bit  ?    Just  a  dash  more  of  red  in  the  face  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it's  true  as  prophecy  ever  was," 
he  said  easily.  "  It  isn't  likely  that  I'll  ever  be  a 
beggar,  despite  your  kindly  wishes  for  my  soul's 
welfare;  and,  on  the  whole,  I  think  I'd  rather  not. 
When  all's  said  and  done,  I'd  rather  own  my  ser- 
vants and  my  cultivated  acres,  and  come  down  late 
to  hot  cakes  than  sit  in  the  dust  by  the  roadside 
and  eat  sour  grapes.  It  may  not  be  so  good  for 
the  soul,  but  it's  vastly  more  comfortable ;  and  I'm 
not  sure  that  a  fat  soul  in  a  lean  body  is  the  best 
of  life,  Betty." 

"  At  least  it  doesn't  give  one  gout,"  retorted 
Betty,  mercilessly,  adding  as  she  went  to  the  door: 
"  but  the  rain  is  holding  up,  and  I  must  be  going. 
I'll  borrow  your  horse,  if  you  please,  Dan.'8  She 
tied  on  her  flattened  bonnet,  and  with  her  foot  on 
the  threshold,  stood  looking  across  the  wet  fields, 
where  each  spear  of  grass  pieced  a  string  of  shin- 
ing rain  drops.  Over  the  mountains  the  clouds 
tossed  in  broken  masses,  and  loose  streamers  of 
vapour  drifted  down  into  the  lower  foldings  of  the 
hills.  The  cool  smell  of  the  moist  road  came  to  her 
on  the  wind. 

Dan  unfastened  the  reins  from  the  young  willow, 
and  led  the  horse  to  the  stone  at  the  entrance.  Then 
he  threw  his  coat  over  the  dampened  saddle  and 


The  Meeting  in  the  Turnpike       173 

lifted  Betty  upon  it.  "  Pooh !  I'm  as  tough  as  a 
pine  knot."  He  scoffed  at  her  protests.  "  There, 
sit  steady ;  I'd  better  hold  you  on,  I  suppose." 

Slipping  the  reins  loosely  over  his  arm,  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  blue  folds  of  her  skirt.  "  If  you 
feel  yourself  going,  just  catch  my  shoulder,"  he 
added ;   "  and  now  we're  off." 

They  left  the  little  path  and  went  slowly  down 
the  turnpike,  under  the  dripping  trees.  Across  the 
fields  a  bird  was  singing  after  the  storm,  and  the 
notes  were  as  fresh  as  the  smell  of  the  rain-washed 
earth.  A  fuller  splendour  seemed  to  have  deepened 
suddenly  upon  the  meadows,  and  the  golden-rod 
ran  in  streams  of  fire  across  the  landscape. 

"  Everything  looks  so  changed,"  said  Betty,  wist- 
fully ;  "  are  you  sure  that  we  are  still  in  the  same 
world,  Dan?" 

"  Sure  ?  "  he  looked  up  at  her  gayly.  "  I'm  sure 
of  but  one  thing  in  this  life,  Betty,  and  that  is  that 
you  should  thank  your  stars  you  met  me." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  I  should  have  gotten  home 
somehow,"  responded  Betty,  ungratefully,  "  so  don't 
flatter  yourself  that  you  have  saved  even  my  bon- 
net." From  its  blue-lined  shadow  she  smiled 
brightly  down  upon  him. 

"  Well,  all  the  same,  I  dare  to  be  grateful,"  he 
rejoined.  "  Even  if  you  haven't  saved  my  hat,  — 
and  I  can't  honestly  convince  myself  that  you  have, 
—  I  thank  my  stars  I  met  you,  Betty."  He  threw 
back  his  head  and  sang  softly  to  himself  as  they 
.went  on  under  the  scudding  clouds. 


VII 

IF  THIS   BE   LOVE 

An  hour  later,  Cephas,  son  of  Cupid,  gathering 
his  basketful  of  chips  at  the  woodpile,  beheld  his 
young  master  approaching  by  the  branch  road,  and 
started  shrieking  for  the  house.  "  Hi !  hit's  Marse 
Dan !  hit's  Marse  Dan !  "  he  yelled  to  his  father 
Cupid  in  the  pantry ;  "  I  seed  'im  fu'st !  Fo'  de 
Lawd,  I  seed  'im  fu'st!"  and  the  Major,  hearing 
the  words,  appeared  instantly  at  the  door  of  his 
library. 

"  It's  the  boy,"  he  called  excitedly.  "  Bless  my 
soul,  Molly,  the  boy  has  come !  " 

The  old  lady  came  hurriedly  downstairs,  pinning 
on  her  muslin  cap,  and  by  the  time  Dan  had  dis- 
mounted at  the  steps  the  whole  household  was  as- 
sembled to  receive  him. 

"  Well,  well,  my  boy,"  exclaimed  the  Major, 
moving  nervously  about,  "  this  is  a  surprise,  indeed. 
We  didn't  look  for  you  until  next  week.  Well, 
well." 

He  turned  away  to  wipe  his  eyes,  while  Dan 
caught  his  grandmother  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  a 
dozen  times.  The  joy  of  these  simple  souls  touched 
him  with  a  new  tenderness ;  he  felt  unworthy  of  his 
grandmother's  kisses  and  the  Major's  tears.  Why 
had  he  stayed  away  when  his  coming  meant  so 
«74 


If  This  Be  Love  175 

much?  What  was  there  in  all  the  world  worth  the 
closer  knitting  of  these  strong  blood  ties? 

"  By  George,  but  I'm  glad  to  get  here,"  he  said 
heartily.  "  There's  nothing  I've  seen  across  the 
water  that  comes  up  to  being  home  again;  and 
the  sight  of  your  faces  is  better  than  the  wonders  of 
the  world,  I  declare.  Ah,  Cupid,  old  man,  I'm  glad 
to  see  you.  And  Aunt  Rhody  and  Congo,  how  are 
you  all?  Why,  where's  Big  Abel?  Don't  tell  me 
he  isn't  here  to  welcome  me." 

"  Hyer  I  is,  young  Marster,  hyer  I  is,"  cried  Big 
Abel,  stretching  out  his  hand  over  Congo's  head,  and 
"  Hyer  I  is,  too,"  shouted  Cephas  from  behind  him. 
"  I  seed  you  fu'st,  fo'  de  Lawd,  I  seed  you  fu'st !  " 

They  gathered  eagerly  round  him,  and  with  a 
laugh,  and  a  word  for  one  and  all,  he  caught  the 
outstretched  hands,  scattering  his  favours  like  a 
young  Jove.  "  Yes,  I've  remembered  you  —  there, 
don't  smother  me.  Did  you  think  I'd  dare  to  show 
my  face,  Aunt  Rhody,  without  the  gayest  necker- 
chief in  Europe  ?  Why,  I  waited  over  in  New  York 
just  to  see  that  it  was  safe.  Oh,  don't  smother  me, 
I  say."  The  dogs  came  bounding  in,  and  he  greeted 
them  with  much  the  same  affectionate  condescension, 
caressing  them  as  they  sprang  upon  him,  and  push- 
ing away  the  one  that  licked  his  face.  When  the 
overseer  ran  in  hastily  to  shake  his  hand,  there  was 
no  visible  change  in  his  manner.  He  greeted  black 
and  white  with  a  courtesy  which  marked  the  social 
line,  with  an  affability  which  had  a  touch  of  the 
august.  Had  the  gulf  between  them  been  less  im- 
passable, he  would  not  have  dared  the  hearty  hand- 
shake, the  genial  word,  the  pat  upon  the  head  — 


176  The  Battle-Ground 

these  were  a  tribute  which  he  paid  to  the  very; 
humble. 

When  the  servants  had  streamed  chattering  out 
through  the  back  door,  he  put  his  arms  about  the 
old  people  and  led  them  into  the  library.  "  Why, 
what's  become  of  Champe  ?  "  he  inquired,  glancing 
complacently  round  the  book-lined  walls. 

"  Ah,  you  mustn't  expect  to  see  anything  of 
Champe  these  days,"  replied  the  Major,  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  to  be  seated  before  he  drew  up  his 
chair.  "  His  heart's  gone  roving,  I  tell  him,  and  he 
follows  mighty  closely  after  it.  If  you  don't  find 
him  at  Uplands,  you've  only  to  inquire  at  Powell 
Hall." 

"  Uplands ! "  exclaimed  Dan,  hearing  the  one 
word.    "  What  is  he  doing  at  Uplands  ?  " 

The  Major  chuckled  as  he  settled  himself  in  his 
easy  chair  and  stretched  out  his  slippered  feet. 
"  Well,  I  should  say  that  he  was  doing  a  very  com- 
mendable thing,  eh,  Molly?"  he  rejoined  jokingly. 

"  He's  losing  his  head,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
retorted  the  old  lady. 

"  Not  his  head,  but  his  heart,  my  dear,"  blandly 
corrected  the  Major,  "  and  I  repeat  that  it  is  a 
very  commendable  thing  to  do  —  why,  where  would 
you  be  to-day,  madam,  if  I  hadn't  fallen  in  love 
with  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  sniffed  as  she  unwound  her  knit- 
ting. "  I  don't  doubt  that  I  should  be  quite  as  well 
off,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  she  replied  convincingly. 

"  Ah,  maybe  so,  maybe  so,"  admitted  the  Major, 
with  a  sigh ;  "  but  I'm  very  sure  that  I  shouldn't  be, 
my  dear." 


If  This  Be  Love  177 

The  old  lady  softened  visibly,  but  she  only  re- 
marked :  — 

"  I'm  glad  that  you  have  found  it  out,  sir,"  and 
clicked  her  needles. 

Dan,  who  had  been  wandering  aimlessly  about 
the  room,  threw  himself  into  a  chair  beside  his 
grandmother  and  caught  at  her  ball  of  yarn. 

"  It's  Virginia,  I  suppose,"  he  suggested. 

The  Major  laughed  until  his  spectacles  clouded. 

"  Virginia !  "  he  gasped,  wiping  the  glasses  upon 
his  white  silk  handkerchief.  "  Listen  to  the  boy, 
Molly,  he  believes  every  last  one  of  us  —  myself  to 
boot,  I  reckon  —  to  be  in  love  with  Miss  Virginia." 

"  If  he  does,  he  believes  as  many  men  have  done 
before  him,"  interposed  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  with  a 
homely  philosophy. 

"  Well,  isn't  it  Virginia  ?  "  asked  Dan. 

"  I  tell  you  frankly,"  pursued  the  Major,  in  a 
confidential  voice,  "  that  if  vou  want  a  rival  with 
Virginia,  you'll  be  apt  to  find  a  stout  one  in  Jack 
Morson.  He  was  back  a  week  ago,  and  he's  a  fine 
fellow  —  a  first-rate  fellow.  I  declare,  he  came 
over  here  one  evening  and  I  couldn't  begin  a  single 
quotation  from  Horace  that  he  didn't  know  the  end 
of  it.  On  my  word,  he's  not  only  a  fine  fellow,  but 
a  cultured  gentleman.  You  may  remember,  sir,  that 
I  have  always  maintained  that  the  two  most  refin- 
ing influences  upon  the  manners  were  to  be  found 
in  the  society  of  ladies  and  a  knowledge  of  the  Latin 
language." 

Dan  gave  the  yarn  an  impatient  jerk.  "  Tell  me, 
grandma,"  he  besought  her. 

As  was  her  custom,  the  old  lady  came  quickly  to 


178  The  Battle-Ground 

the  point  and  appeared  to  transfix  the  question  witH 
the  end  of  her  knitting-needle.  "  I  really  think  that 
it  is  Betty,  my  child,"  she  answered  calmly. 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  falling  in  love  with 
Betty  ?  "  demanded  Dan,  while  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  the  ball  of  yarn  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  he  means,  sir,"  protested  the 
Major.  "  If  a  man  in  love  has  any  meaning  in  him, 
it  takes  a  man  in  love  to  find  it  out.  Maybe  you'll 
be  better  at  it  than  I  am ;  but  I  give  it  up  —  I  give  it 
up." 

With  a  gloomy  face  Dan  sat  down  again,  and 
resting  his  arms  on  his  knees,  stared  at  the  vase  of 
golden-rod  between  the  tall  brass  andirons.  Cupid 
came  in  to  light  the  lamps,  and  stopped  to  inquire  if 
Mrs.  Lightfoot  would  like  a  blaze  to  be  started  in 
the  fireplace.  "  It's  a  little  chilly,  my  dear,"  re- 
marked the  Major,  slapping  his  arm.  "  There's 
been  a  sharp  change  in  the  weather ; "  and  Cupid 
removed  the  vase  of  golden-rod  and  laid  an  armful 
of  sticks  crosswise  on  the  andirons. 

"  Draw  up  to  the  hearth,  my  boy,"  said  the  Major, 
when  the  fire  burned.  "  Even  if  you  aren't  cold,  it 
looks  cheerful,  you  know  —  draw  up,  draw  up," 
and  he  at  once  began  to  question  his  grandson  about 
the  London  streets,  evoking  as  he  talked  dim  mem- 
ories of  his  own  early  days  in  England.  He  asked 
after  St.  Paul's  and  Westminster  Abbey  half  as  if 
they  were  personal  friends  of  whose  death  he  feared 
to  hear;  and  upon  being  answered  that  they  still 
stood  unchanged,  he  pressed  eagerly  for  the  gossip 
of  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street.  Was  Dr.  Johnson's 
coffee-house  still  standing?  and  did  Dan  remember 


If  This  Be  Love  179 

to  look  up  the  haunts  of  Mr.  Addison  in  his  youth  ? 
"  I've  gotten  a  good  deal  out  of  Champe,"  he  con- 
fessed, "  but  I  like  to  hear  it  again  —  I  like  to  hear 
it.  Why,  it  takes  me  back  forty  years,  and  makes  me 
younger." 

And  when  Champe  came  in  from  his  ride,  he 
found  the  old  gentleman  upon  the  hearth-rug,  his 
white  hair  tossing  over  his  brow,  as  he  recited  from 
Mr.  Addison  with  the  zest  of  a  schoolboy  of  a  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

"  Hello,  Beau !  I  hope  you  got  your  clothes,"  was 
Champe's  greeting,  as  he  shook  his  cousin's  hand. 

"  Oh,  they  turned  up  all  right,"  said  Dan,  care- 
lessly, "  and,  by-the-way,  there  was  an  India  shawl 
for  grandma  in  that  very  trunk." 

Champe  crossed  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  finger- 
ing one  of  the  tall  vases.  "  It's  a  pity  you  didn't 
stop  by  Uplands,"  he  observed.  "  You'd  have  found 
Virginia  more  blooming  than  ever." 

"  Ah,  is  that  so  ?  "  returned  Dan,  flushing,  and  a 
moment  afterward  he  added  with  an  effort,  "  I  met 
Betty  in  the  turnpike,  you  know." 

Six  months  ago,  he  remembered,  he  had  raved 
out  his  passion  for  Virginia,  and  to-day  he  could 
barely  stammer  Betty's  name.  A  great  silence! 
seemed  to  surround  the  thought  of  her. 

"  So  she  told  me,"  replied  Champe,  looking  stead- 
ily at  Dan.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  about  to 
speak  again ;  then  changing  his  mind,  he  left  the 
room  with  a  casual  remark  about  dressing  for  sup- 
per. 

"  I'll  go,  too,"  said  Dan,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  If 
you'll  believe  me,  I  haven't  spoken  to  my  old  love, 


180  The  Battle-Ground 

Aunt  Emmeline.  So  proud  a  beauty  is  not  to  be 
treated  with  neglect." 

He  lighted  one  of  the  tall  candles  upon  the  man- 
tel-piece, and  taking  it  in  his  hand,  crossed  the  hall 
and  went  into  the  panelled  parlour,  where  Great-aunt 
Emmeline,  in  the  lustre  of  her  amber  brocade,  smiled 
her  changeless  smile  from  out  the  darkened  canvas. 
There  was  wit  in  her  curved  lip  and  spirit  in  her 
humorous  gray  eyes,  and  the  marble  whiteness  of 
her  brow,  which  had  brought  her  many  lovers  in 
her  lifetime,  shone  undimmed  beneath  the  masses  of 
her  chestnut  hair.  With  her  fair  body  gone  to  dust, 
she  still  held  her  immortal  apple  by  the  divine  right 
of  her  remembered  beauty. 

As  Dan  looked  at  her  it  seemed  to  him  for  the 
first  time  that  he  found  a  likeness  to  Betty  —  to 
Betty  as  she  smiled  up  at  him  from  the  hearth  in 
Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin.  It  was  not  in  the  mouth  alone, 
nor  in  the  eyes  alone,  but  in  something  indefinable 
which  belonged  to  every  feature  —  in  the  kindly  fer- 
vour that  shone  straight  out  from  the  smiling  face. 
Ah,  he  knew  now  why  Aunt  Emmeline  had  charmed 
a  generation. 

He  blew  out  the  candle,  and  went  back  into  the 
hall  where  the  front  door  stood  half  open.  Then 
taking  down  his  hat,  he  descended  the  steps  and 
strolled  thoughtfully  up  and  down  the  gravelled 
drive. 

The  air  was  still  moist,  and  beyond  the  gray 
meadows  the  white  clouds  huddled  like  a  flock  of 
sheep  upon  the  mountain  side.  From  the  branches 
of  the  old  elms  fell  a  few  yellowed  leaves,  and 
among  them  birds  were  flying  back  and  forth  with" 


If  This  Be  Love  1S1 

short  cries.  A  faint  perfume  came  from  the  high 
urns  beside  the  steps,  where  a  flowering  creeper 
was  bruised  against  the  marble  basins. 

With  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  Dan  passed  slowly  to 
and  fro  against  the  lighted  windows,  and  looked  up 
tenderly  at  the  gray  sky  and  the  small  flying  birds. 
There  was  a  glow  in  his  face,  for,  with  a  total  cessa- 
tion of  time,  he  was  back  in  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin, 
and  the  rain  was  on  the  roof. 

In  one  of  those  rare  moods  in  which  the  least 
subjective  mind  becomes  that  of  a  mystic,  he  told 
himself  that  this  hour  had  waited  for  him  from  the 
beginning  of  time  —  had  bided  patiently  at  the  cross- 
roads until  he  came  up  with  it  at  last.  All  his  life 
he  had  been  travelling  to  meet  it,  not  in  ignorance, 
but  with  half-unconscious  knowledge,  and  all  the 
while  the  fire  had  burned  brightly  on  the  hearth, 
and  Betty  had  knelt  upon  the  flat  stones  drying  her 
hair.  Again  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
looked  into  a  woman's  face  before,  and  the  shame  of 
his  wandering  fancies  was  heavy  upon  him.  He 
called  himself  a  fool  because  he  had  followed  for  a 
day  the  flutter  of  Virginia's  gown,  and  a  dotard  for 
the  many  loves  he  had  sworn  to  long  before.  In  the 
twilight  he  saw  Betty's  eyes,  grave,  accusing,  dark- 
ened with  reproach;  and  he  asked  himself  half 
hopefully  if  she  cared  —  if  it  were  possible  for  a 
moment  that  she  cared.  There  had  been  humour  in 
her  smile,  but,  for  all  his  effort,  he  could  bring  back 
no  deeper  emotion  than  pity  or  disdain  —  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  both  the  pity  and  the  disdain 
were  for  himself. 

The  library  window  was  lifted  suddenly,  as  the 


1 82  The  Battle-Ground 

Major  called  out  to  him  that  "  supper  was  on  its 
way " ;  and,  with  an  impatient  movement  of  the 
shoulders,  he  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  grass  and 
went  indoors. 

The  next  afternoon  he  rode  over  to  Uplands,  and 
found  Virginia  alone  in  the  dim,  rose-scented  par- 
lour, where  the  quaint  old  furniture  stood  in  the 
gloom  of  a  perpetual  solemnity.  The  girl,  herself, 
made  a  bright  spot  of  colour  against  the  damask 
curtains,  and  as  he  looked  at  her  he  felt  the  same 
delight  in  her  loveliness  that  he  felt  in  Great-aunt 
Emmeline's.  Virginia  had  become  a  picture  to  him, 
and  nothing  more. 

When  he  entered  she  greeted  him  with  her  old 
friendliness,  gave  him  both  her  cool  white  hands,  and 
asked  him  a  hundred  shy  questions  about  the  coun- 
tries over  sea.  She  was  delicately  cordial,  demurely 
glad. 

"  It  seems  an  age  since  you  went  away,"  she  said 
flatteringly,  "  and  so  many  things  have  happened  — 
one  of  the  big  trees  blew  down  on  the  lawn,  and 
Jack  Powell  broke  his  arm  —  and  —  and  Mr.  Mor- 
son  has  been  back  twice,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  rather  think 
the  tree's  the  biggest  thing,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  is  the  biggest,"  admitted  Virginia, 
sweetly.  "  I  couldn't  get  my  arms  halfway  round 
it  —  and  Betty  was  so  distressed  when  it  fell  that 
she  cried  half  the  day,  just  as  if  it  were  a  human 
being.  Aunt  Lydia  has  been  trying  to  build  a  rock- 
ery over  the  root,  and  she's  going  to  cover  it  with 
portulaca."  She  went  to  the  long  window  and 
pointed  out  the  spot  where  it  had  stood.     "  There 


If  This   Be  Love  183 

are  so  many  one  hardly  misses  it,"  she  added  cheer- 
fully. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Dan  asked  timidly  for 
Betty,  to  hear  that  she  had  gone  riding  earlier  with 
Champe.  "  She  is  showing  him  a  new  path  over 
the  mountain,"  said  Virginia.  "  I  really  think  she 
knows  them  all  by  heart." 

"  I  hope  she  hasn't  taken  to  minding  cattle,"  ob- 
served Dan,  irritably.  "  I  believe  in  women  keeping 
at  home,  you  know,"  and  as  he  rose  to  go  he  told 
Virginia  that  she  had  "  an  Irish  colour." 

"  I  have  been  sitting  in  the  sun,"  she  answered 
shyly,  going  back  to  the  window  when  he  left  the 
room. 

Dan  went  quickly  out  to  Prince  Rupert,  but  with 
his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  he  saw  Miss  Lydia  training  a 
coral  honeysuckle  at  the  end  of  the  portico,  and 
turned  away  to  help  her  fasten  up  a  broken  string. 
"  It  blew  down  yesterday,"  she  explained  sadly. 
"  The  storm  did  a  great  deal  of  damage  to  the 
flowers,  and  the  garden  looked  almost  desolate  this 
morning,  but  Betty  and  I  worked  there  until  dinner. 
I  tell  Betty  she  must  take  my  place  among  the 
flowers,  she  has  such  a  talent  for  making  them 
bloom.  Why,  if  you  will  come  into  the  garden,  you 
will  be  surprised  to  see  how  many  summer  planU 
axe  still  in  blossom." 

She  spoke  wistfully,  and  Dan  looked  down  on 
her  with  a  tender  reverence  which  became  him 
strangely.  "  Why,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  with 
you,"  he  answered.  "  Do  you  know  I  never  see  you 
without  thinking  of  your  roses  ?  You  seem  to  carry 
their  fragrance  in  your  clothes."    There  was  a  touch 


1 84  The  Battle-Ground 

of  the  Major's  flattery  in  his  manner,  but  Miss 
Lydia's  pale  cheeks  flushed  with  pleasure. 

Smiling  faintly,  she  folded  her  knitted  shawl 
over  her  bosom,  and  he  followed  her  across  the 
grass  to  the  little  whitewashed  gate  of  the  garden. 
There  she  entered  softly,  as  if  she  were  going  into 
church,  her  light  steps  barely  treading  down  the 
tall  grass  strewn  with  rose  leaves.  Beyond  the  high 
box  borders  the  gay  October  roses  bent  toward  her 
beneath  a  light  wind,  and  in  the  square  beds  tangles 
of  summer  plants  still  flowered  untouched  by  frost. 
The  splendour  of  the  scarlet  sage  and  the  delicate 
clusters  of  the  four-o'clocks  and  sweet  Williams 
made  a  single  blur  of  colour  in  the  sunshine,  and 
under  the  neatly  clipped  box  hedges,  blossoms  of 
petunias  and  verbenas  straggled  from  their  trim 
rows  across  the  walk. 

As  he  stood  beside  her,  Dan  drew  in  a  long  breath 
of  the  fragrant  air.  "  I  declare,  it  is  like  standing 
in  a  bunch  of  pinks,"  he  remarked. 

"  There  has  been  no  hard  frost  as  yet,"  returned 
Miss  Lydia,  looking  up  at  him.  "  Even  the  ver- 
benas were  not  nipped,  and  I  don't  think  I  ever  had 
them  bloom  so  late.  Why,  it  is  almost  the  first  of 
October." 

-  They  strolled  leisurely  up  and  down  the  box- 
bordered  paths,  Miss  Lydia  talking  in  her  gentle, 
monotonous  voice,  and  Dan  bending  his  head  as  he 
flicked  at  the  tall  grass  with  his  riding-whip. 

"  He  is  a  great  lover  of  flowers,"  said  the  old 
lady  after  he  had  gone,  and  thought  in  her  simple 
heart  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 

For  two  days  Dan's  pride  held  him  back,  but  the 


If  This  Be  Love  185 

third  being  Sunday,  he  went  over  in  the  afternoon 
with  the  pretence  of  a  message  from  his  grand- 
mother. As  the  day  was  mild  the  great  doors  were 
standing  open,  and  from  the  drive  he  saw  Mrs. 
Ambler  sitting  midway  of  the  hall,  with  her  Bible  in 
her  hand  and  her  class  of  little  negroes  at  her  feet. 
Beyond  her  there  was  a  strip  of  green  and  the 
autumn  glory  of  the  garden,  and  the  sunlight  com- 
ing from  without  fell  straight  upon  the  leaves  of 
the  open  book. 

She  was  reading  from  the  gospel  of  St.  John,  and 
she  did  not  pause  until  the  chapter  was  finished; 
then  she  looked  up  and  said,  smiling :  "  Shall  I  ask 
you  to  join  my  class,  or  will  you  look  for  the  girls 
out  of  doors?  Virginia,  I  think,  is  in  the  garden, 
and  Betty  has  just  gone  riding  down  the  tavern 
road." 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  after  Betty,"  replied  Dan,  promptly, 
and  with  a  gay  "  good-by  "  he  untied  Prince  Rupert 
and  started  at  a  canter  for  the  turnpike. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  Uplands  the  tavern 
road  branched  off  under  a  deep  gloom  of  forest 
trees.  The  white  sand  of  the  turnpike  gave  place  to 
a  heavy  clay  soil,  which  went  to  dust  in  summer  and 
to  mud  in  winter,  impeding  equally  the  passage  of 
wheels.  On  either  side  a  thick  wood  ran  for  several 
miles,  and  the  sunshine  filtered  in  bright  drops 
through  the  green  arch  overhead. 

When  Dan  first  caught  sight  of  Betty  she  was 
riding  in  a  network  of  sun  and  shade,  her  face  lifted 
to  the  bit  of  blue  sky  that  showed  between  the  tree- 
tops.  At  the  sound  of  his  horse  she  threw  a  startled 
look  behind  her,  and  then,  drawing  aside  from  the 


1 86  The  Battle-Ground 

sunken  ruts  in  the  "  corduroy  "  road,  waited,  smil- 
ing, until  he  galloped  up. 

"  Why,  it's  never  you !  "  she  exclaimed,  surprised. 

"  Well,  that's  not  my  fault,  Betty,"  he  gayly  re- 
turned. "  If  I  had  my  way,  I  assure  you  it  would  be 
always  I.  You  mustn't  blame  a  fellow  for  his  ill 
luck,  you  know."  Then  he  laid  his  hand  on  her 
bridle  and  faced  her  sternly. 

"  Look  here,  Betty,  you  haven't  been  treating  me 
right,"  he  said. 

She  threw  out  a  deprecating  little  gesture.  "  Do 
I  need  to  put  on  more  humility  ?  "  she  questioned, 
humbly.    "  Is  it  respect  that  I  have  failed  in,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  bosh !  "  he  interposed,  rudely.  "  I  want  to 
know  why  you  went  riding  three  afternoons  with 
Champe  —  it  wasn't  fair  of  you,  you  know." 

Betty  sighed  sadly.  "  No  one  has  ever  asked  me 
before  why  I  went  riding  with  Champe,"  she  con- 
fessed, "  and  the  mighty  secret  has  quite  gnawed 
into  my  heart." 

"  Share  it  with  me,"  begged  Dan,  gallantly,  "  only 
I  warn  you  that  I  shall  have  no  mercy  upon 
Champe." 

"  Poor  Champe,"  said  Betty. 

"  At  least  he  went  riding  with'  you  three  after- 
noons —  lucky  Champe ! " 

"  Ah,  so  he  did ;  and  must  I  tell  you  why  ?  " 

He  nodded.  "  You  shan't  go  home  until  you  do," 
he  declared  grimly. 

Betty  reached  up  and  plucked  a  handful  of  aspen 
leaves,  scattering  them  upon  the  road. 

"By  what  right,  O  horse-taming  Hector  (isn't 
that  the  way  they  talk  in  Homer?)" 


If  This  Be  Love  187 

"  By  the  right  of  the  strongest,  O  fair  Helena 
(it's  the  way  they  talk  in  translations  of  Homer)." 

"  How  very  learned  you  are !  "  sighed  Betty. 

"  How  very  lovely  you  are !  "  sighed  Dan. 

"  And  you  will  really  force  me  to  tell  you  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  For  your  own  sake,  don't  let  it  come  to  that,"  he 
replied. 

"  But  are  you  sure  that  you  are  strong  enough  to 
hear  it?" 

"  I  am  strong  enough  for  anything,"  he  assured 
her,  "  except  suspense." 

"  Well,  if  I  must,  then  let  me  whisper  it  —  I  went 
because  —  "  she  drew  back,  "  I  implore  you  not  to 
uproot  the  forest  in  your  wrath." 

"  Speak  quickly,"  urged  Dan,  impatiently. 

"I -(Went  because  —  brace  yourself  —  I  went  be- 
cause he  asked  me." 

"  O  Betty !  "  he  cried,  and  caught  her  hand. 

"  O  Dan ! "  she  laughed,  and  drew  her  hand 
away. 

"  You  deserve  to  be  whipped,"  he  went  on  sternly. 
"  How  dare  you  play  with  the  green-eyed  monster 
I'm  wearing  on  my  sleeve?  Haven't  you  heard  his 
growls,  madam  ?  " 

"  He's  a  pretty  monster,"  said  Betty.  "  I  should 
like  to  pat  him." 

"  Oh,  he  needs  to  be  gently  stroked,  I  tell 
you." 

"Does  he  wake  often  —  poor  monster?" 

Dan  lowered  his  abashed  eyes  to  the  road. 

"  Well,  that  —  ah,  that  depends  —  "  he  began 
awkwardly. 


1 88  The  Battle-Ground 

"Ah,  that  depends  upon  your  fancies,"  finished 
Betty,  and  rode  on  rapidly. 

It  was  a  moment  before  he  came  up  with  her,  and 
when  he  did  so  his  face  was  flushed. 

"Do  you  mind  about  my  fancies,  Betty?"  he 
asked  humbly. 

"I?"  said  Betty,  disdainfully.  "Why,  what 
have  I  to  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  With  my  fancies  ?  nothing  —  so  help  me  God  — • 
nothing." 

"lam  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  replied  quietly,  strok- 
ing her  horse.  Her  cheeks  were  glowing  and  she  let 
the  overhanging  branches  screen  her  face.  As  they 
rode  on  silently  they  heard  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 
beneath  the  horses'  feet,  and  the  soft  wind  playing 
through  the  forest.  A  chain  of  lights  and  shadows 
ran  before  them  into  the  misty  purple  of  the  dis- 
tance, where  the  dim  trees  went  up  like  gothic  spires. 

Betty's  hands  were  trembling,  but  fearing  the 
stillness,  she  spoke  in  a  careless  voice. 

"  When  do  you  go  back  to  college  ?  "  she  inquired 
politely. 

"  In  two  days  —  but  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  I 
dare  say." 

"  Indeed  it  isn't.    I  shall  be  very  sorry." 

"  You  needn't  lie  to  me,"  he  returned  irritably. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  a  lie  is  a  lie,  you  know." 

"  So  I  suppose,  but  I  wasn't  lying  —  I  shall  be 
very  sorry." 

A  fiery  maple  branch  fell  between  them,  and  he 
impatiently  thrust  it  aside. 

"  When  you  treat  me  like  this  you  raise  the  devil 
in  me,"  he  said  angrily.     "  As  I  told  you  before, 


If  This  Be  Love  189 

Betty,  when  I'm  not  Lightfoot  I'm  Montjoy —  it 
may  be  this  that  makes  you  plague  me  so." 

"  O  Dan,  Dan !  "  she  laughed,  but  in  a  moment 
added  gravely :  "  When  you're  neither  Lightfoot 
nor  Montjoy,  you're  just  yourself,  and  it's  then, 
after  all,  that  I  like  you  best.  Shall  we  turn  now  ?  " 
She  wheeled  her  horse  about  on  the  rustling  leaves, 
and  they  started  toward  the  sunset  light  shining  far 
up  the  road. 

"  When  you  like  me  best,"  said  Dan,  passionately. 
"  Betty,  when  is  that  ? "  His  ardent  look  was  on 
her  face,  and  she,  defying  her  fears,  met  it  with 
her  beaming  eyes.  "  When  you're  just  yourself, 
Dan,"  she  answered  and  galloped  on.  Her  lips  were 
smiling,  but  there  was  a  prayer  in  her  heart,  for  it 
cried,  "  Dear  God,  let  him  love  me,  let  him  love 
me. 


Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 9 


mm 

betty's  unbelief: 

"Dear  God,  let  him  love  me,"  she  prayed  again 
in  the  cool  twilight  of  her  chamber.  Before  the 
open  window  she  put  her  hands  to  her  burning 
cheeks  and  felt  the  wind  trickle  between  her  quiver- 
ing fingers.  Her  heart  fluttered  like  a  bird  and  her 
blood  went  in  little  tremours  through  her  veins. 
For  a  single  instant  she  seemed  to  feel  the  passage 
of  the  earth  through  space.  "  Oh,  let  him  love  me ! 
let  him  love  me ! "  she  cried  upon  her  knees. 

When  Virginia  came  in  she  rose  and  turned  to 
her  with  the  brightness  of  tears  on  her  lashes. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  help  you,  dear  ?  "  she  asked, 
gently. 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  dressed,"  answered  Virginia,  com- 
ing toward  her.  She  held  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  and 
the  light  fell  over  her  girlish  figure  in  its  muslin 
gown.  "  You  are  so  late,  Betty,"  she  added,  stop- 
ping before  the  bureau.    "  Were  you  by  yourself  ?  " 

"  Not  all  the  way,"  replied  Betty,  slowly. 

"  Who  was  with  you  ?    Champe  ?  " 

"  No,  not  Champe  —  Dan,"  said  Betty,  stooping 
to  unfasten  her  boots. 

Virginia  was  pinning  a  red  verbena  in  her  hair, 
and  she  turned  to  catch  a  side  view  of  her  face. 

"  Do  you  know  I  really  believe  Dan  likes  you 
190 


Betty's  Unbelief  191 

best,"  she  carelessly  remarked.  "  I  asked  him  the 
other  afternoon  what  colour  hair  he  preferred,  and 
he  snapped  out,  '  red  '  as  suddenly  as  that.  Wasn't 
it  funny  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Betty  did  not  speak;  then  she 
came  over  and  stood  beside  her  sister. 

"  Would  you  mind  if  he  liked  me  better  than  you, 
dear  ?  "  she  asked,  doubtfully.  "  Would  you  mind 
the  least  little  bit  ?  " 

Virginia  laughed  merrily  and  stooped  to  kiss  her. 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  if  every  man  in  the  world 
liked  you  better,"  she  answered  gayly.  "  If  they 
only  had  as  much  sense  as  I've  got,  they  would, 
foolish  things." 

"  I  never  knew  but  one  who  did,"  returned  Betty, 
"  and  that  was  the  Major." 

"  But   Champe,  too." 

"  Well,  perhaps,  —  but  Champe's  afraid  of  you. 
He  calls  you  Penelope,  you  know,  because  of  the 
'  wooers.'  We  counted  six  horses  at  the  portico 
yesterday,  and  he  made  a  bet  with  me  that  all  of 
them  belonged  to  the  'wooers '  —  and  they  really 
did,  too." 

"  Oh,  but  wooing  isn't  winning,"  laughed  Vir- 
ginia, going  toward  the  door.  "  You'd  better 
hurry,  Betty,  supper's  ready.  I  wouldn't  touch  my 
hair,  if  I  were  you,  it  looks  just  lovely."  Her  white 
skirts  fluttered  across  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  and 
in  a  moment  Betty  heard  her  soft  step  on  the  stair. 

Two  days  later  Betty  told  Dan  good-by  with 
smiling  lips.  He  rode  over  in  the  early  morning, 
when  she  was  in  the  garden  gathering  loose  rose 
leaves  to  scatter  among  her  clothes.    There  had  been 


192  The  Battle- Ground 

a  sharp  frost  the  night  before,  and  now  as  it  melted 
in  the  slanting  sun  rays,  Miss  Lydia's  summer 
flowers  hung  blighted  upon  their  stalks.  Only  the 
gay  October  roses  were  still  in  their  full  splendour. 

"  What  an  early  Betty,"  said  Dan,  coming  up  to 
her  as  she  stood  in  the  wet  grass  beside  one  of  the 
quaint  rose  squares.  "  You  are  all  dewy  like  a 
flower." 

"  Oh,  I  had  breakfast  an  hour  ago,"  she  answered, 
giving  him  her  moist  hand  to  which  a  few  petals 
were  clinging. 

"  Ye  Gods!  have  I  missed  an  hour?  Why,  I  ex- 
pected to  sit  waiting  on  the  door-step  until  you  had 
had  your  sleep  out." 

"  Don't  you  know  if  you  gather  rose  leaves 
with  the  dew  on  them,  their  sweetness  lasts  twice 
as  long  ?  "  asked  Betty. 

"  So  you  got  up  to  gather  ye  rosebuds,  after  all, 
and  not  to  wish  me  God  speed?"  he  said  despond- 
ently. 

"  Well,  I  should  have  been  up  anyway,"  replied 
Betty,  frankly.  "  This  is  the  loveliest  part  of  the 
day,  you  know.  The  world  looks  so  fresh  with  the 
first  frost  over  it  —  only  the  poor  silly  summer 
flowers  take  cold  and  die." 

"If  you  weren't  a  rose,  you'd  take  cold  yourself," 
remarked  Dan,  pointing,  with  his  riding-whip,  to 
the  hem  of  her  dimity  skirt.  "  Don't  stand  in  the 
grass  like  that,  you  make  me  shiver." 

"  Oh,  the  sun  will  dry  me,"  she  laughed,  stepping 
from  the  path  to  the  bare  earth  of  the  rose  bed. 
"  Why,  when  you  get  well  into  the  sunshine  it 
feels  like  summer."    She  talked  on  merrily,  and  he, 


Betty's  Unbelief  193 

paying  small  heed  to  what  she  said,  kept  his  ardent 
look  upon  her  face.  His  joy  was  in  her  bright 
presence,  in  the  beauty  of  her  smile,  in  the  kind 
eyes  that  shone  upon  him.  Speech  meant  so  little 
when  he  could  put  out  his  arm  and  touch  her  if  he 
dared. 

"  I  am  going  away  in  an  hour,  Betty,"  he  said, 
at  last. 

"  But  you  will  be  back  again  at  Christmas." 

"  At  Christmas !  Heavens  alive !  You  speak  as 
if  it  were  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  but  time  goes  very  quickly,  you  know." 

Dan  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  I  dare  say  it 
does  with  you,"  he  returned,  irritably,  "  but  it 
wouldn't  if  you  were  as  much  in  love  as  I  am." 

"  Why,  you  ought  to  be  used  to  it  by  now,"  urged 
Betty,  mercilessly.  "  You  were  in  love  last  year, 
I  remember." 

"  Betty,  don't  punish  me  for  what  I  couldn't  help. 
You  know  I  love  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Betty,  nervously  plucking  rose 
leaves.  "  You  have  been  too  often  in  love  before, 
my  good  Dan." 

"  But  I  was  never  in  love  with  you  before,"  re- 
torted Dan,  decisively. 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling.  "  And  you  are  not 
in  love  with  me  now,"  she  replied,  gravely.  "  You 
have  found  out  that  my  hair  is  pretty,  or  that  I  can 
mix  a  pudding ;  but  I  do  not  often  let  down  my  hair, 
and  I  seldom  cook,  so  you'll  get  over  it,  my  friend, 
never  fear." 

He  flushed  angrily.  "  And  if  I  do  not  get  over 
it?  "  he  demanded. 


194  The  Battle-Ground 

"If  you  do  not  get  over  it?"  repeated  Betty, 
trembling.  She  turned  away  from  him,  strewing  a 
handful  of  rose  leaves  upon  the  grass.  "  Then  I 
shall  think  that  you  value  neither  my  hair  nor  my; 
housekeeping,"  she  added,  lightly. 

"  If  I  swear  that  I  love  you,  will  you  believe  me, 
Betty?" 

"  Don't  tempt  my  faith,  Dan,  it's  too  small." 

"  Whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  I  do  love  you," 
he  went  on.  "  I  may  have  been  a  fool  now  and  then 
before  I  found  it  out,  but  you  don't  think  that  was 
falling  in  love,  do  you  ?  I  confess  that  I  liked  a  pair 
of  fine  eyes  or  rosy  cheeks,  but  I  could  laugh  about 
it  even  while  I  thought  it  was  love  I  felt.  I  can't 
laugh  about  being  in  love  with  you,  Betty." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  Betty,  saucily. 

"  When  I  saw  you  kneeling  by  the  fire  in  free 
Levi's  cabin,  I  knew  that  I  loved  you,"  he  said, 
hotly. 

"  But  I  can't  always  kneel  to  you,  Dan,"  she  in- 
terposed. 

He  put  her  words  impatiently  aside,  "  and  what's 
more  I  knew  then  that  I  had  loved  you  all  my  life 
without  knowing  it,"  he  pursued.  "  You  may  taunt 
me  with  fickleness,  but  I'm  not  fickle  —  I  was  merely 
a  fool.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  find  out  what  I 
wanted,  but  I've  found  out  at  last,  and,  so  help  me 
God,  I'll  have  it  yet.  I  never  went  without  a  thing 
I  wanted  in  my  life." 

"  Then  it  will  be  good  for  you,"  responded  Betty. 
"  Shall  I  put  some  rose  leaves  into  your  pocket  ? " 
She  spoke  indifferently,  but  all  the  while  she  heard 
her  heart  singing  for  joy. 


Betty's  Unbelief  195 

In  the  rage  of  his  boyish  passion,  he  cut  brutally 
at  the  flowers  growing  at  his  feet. 

"  If  you  keep  this  up,  you'll  send  me  to  the  devil !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

She  caught  his  hand  and  took  the  whip  from  his 
fingers.  "  Ah,  don't  hurt  the  poor  flowers,"  she 
begged,  "  they  aren't  to  blame." 

"  Who  is  to  blame,  Betty  ? " 

She  looked  up  wistfully  into  his  angry  face. 
"  You  are  no  better  than  a  child.  Dan,"  she  said, 
almost  sadly.  "  and  you  haven't  the  least  idea  what 
you  are  storming  so  about.  It's  time  you  were  a 
man,  but  you  aren't,  you're  just  — " 

"  Oh,  I  know,  I'm  just  a  pampered  poodle  dog," 
he  finished,  bitterly. 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be  something  better,  and 
you  must  be." 

"  I'll  be  anything  you  please,  Betty ;  I'll  be  Pres- 
ident, if  you  wish  it." 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  don't  care  in  the  least  for 
Presidents." 

"  Then  I'll  be  a  beggar,  you  like  beggars." 

"  You'll  be  just  yourself,  if  you  want  to  please 
me,  Dan,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  You  will  be 
your  best  self  —  neither  the  flattering  Light- 
foot,  nor  the  rude  Mont  joy.  You  will  learn 
to  work,  to  wait  patiently,  and  to  love  one 
woman.  Whoever  she  may  be,  I  shall  say,  God 
bless  her." 

"  God  bless  her,  Betty,"  he  echoed  fervently,  and 
added,  "  Since  it's  a  man  you  want,  I'll  be  a  man, 
but  I  almost  wish  you  had  said  a  President,  I 
could  have  been  one  for  you,  Betty." 


196  The  Battle-Ground 

Then  he  held  out  his  hand.  "  I  don't  suppose  you 
will  kiss  me  good-by  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  No,  I  shan't  kiss  you  good-by,"  she  answered. 

"Never,  Betty?" 

Smiling  brightly,  she  gave  him  her  hand.  "  When 
you  have  loved  me  two  years,  perhaps,  —  or  when 
you  marry  another  woman.  Good-by,  dear, 
good-by." 

He  turned  quickly  away  and  went  up  the  little 
path  to  the  gate.  There  he  paused  for  an  instant, 
looked  back,  and  waved  his  hand.  "  Good-by,  my 
darling !  "  he  called,  boldly,  and  passed  under  the 
honeysuckle  arbour.  As  he  mounted  his  horse  in 
the  drive  he  saw  her  still  standing  as  he  had  left  her, 
the  roses  falling  about  her,  and  the  sunshine  full 
upon  her  bended  head. 

Until  he  was  hidden  by  the  trees  she  watched 
him  breathlessly,  then,  kneeling  in  the  path,  she  laid 
her  cheek  upon  the  long  grass  he  had  trodden  un- 
derfoot. "  O  my  love,  my  love,"  she  whispered  to 
the  ground. 

Miss  Lydia  called  her  from  the  house,  and  she 
went  to  her  with  some  loose  roses  in  her  muslin 
apron.  "  Did  you  call  me,  Aunt  Lydia  ? "  she 
asked,  lifting  her  radiant  eyes  to  the  old  lady's  face. 
"  I  haven't  gathered  very  many  leaves." 

"  I  wanted  you  to  pot  some  white  violets  for 
me,  dear,"  answered  Miss  Lydia,  from  the  back 
steps.  "  My  winter  garden  is  almost  full,  but  there's 
a  spot  where  I  can  put  a  few  violets.  Poor  Mr.  Bill 
asked  for  a  geranium  for  his  window,  so  I  let  him 
take  one." 

"  Oh,  let  me  pot  them  for  you,"  begged  Betty, 


Betty's  Unbelief  197 

eager  to  be  of  service.  "  Send  Petunia  for  the 
trowel,  and  I'll  choose  you  a  lovely  plant.  It's  too 
bad  to  see  all  the  dear  verbenas  bitten  by  the  frost." 
She  tossed  a  rose  into  Miss  Lydia's  hands,  and  went 
back  gladly  into  the  garden. 

A  fortnight  after  this  the  Major  came  over  and 
besought  her  to  return  with  him  for  a  week  at 
Chericoke.  Mrs.  Lightfoot  had  taken  to  her  bed, 
he  said  sadly,  and  the  whole  place  was  rapidly  fall- 
ing to  rack  and  ruin.  "  We  need  your  hands  to 
put  it  straight  again,"  he  added,  "  and  Molly  told 
me  on  no  account  to  come  back  without  you.  I  am 
at  your  mercy,  my  dear." 

"  Why,  I  should  love  to  go,"  replied  Betty,  with 
the  thought  of  Dan  at  her  heart.  "  I'll  be  ready  in  a 
minute,"  and  she  ran  upstairs  to  find  her  mother, 
and  to  pack  her  things. 

The  Major  waited  for  her  standing;  and  when 
she  came  down,  followed  by  Petunia  with  her 
clothes,  he  helped  her,  with  elaborate  courtesy,  into 
the  old  coach  before  the  portico. 

"  It  takes  me  back  to  my  wedding  day,  Betty," 
he  said,  as  he  stepped  in  after  her  and  slammed  the 
door.  "  It  isn't  often  that  I  carry  off  a  pretty  girl 
so  easily." 

"  Now  I  know  that  you  didn't  carry  off  Mrs. 
Lightfoot  easily,"  returned  Betty,  laughing  from 
sheer  lightness  of  spirits.  "  She  has  tolci  me  the 
whole  story,  sir,  from  the  evening  that  she  wore  the 
peach-blow  brocade,  that  made  you  fall  in  love  with 
her  on  the  spot,  to  the  day  that  she  almost  broke 
down  at  the  altar.  You  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
bachelorship,  sir,  so  you  needn't  boast." 


198  The  Battle-Ground 

The  Major  chuckled  in  his  corner.  "I  don'f 
doubt  that  Molly  told  you  so,"  he  replied,  "  but,  be- 
tween you  and  me,  I  don't  believe  it  ever  occurred 
to  her  until  forty  years  afterwards.  She  got  it 
out  of  one  of  those  silly  romances  she  reads  in  bed 
—  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  you'll  find  it  some- 
where in  the  pages  of  her  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  or  her 
Miss  Burney.  Molly's  a  sensible  woman,  my 
child,  —  I'm  the  last  man  to  deny  it  —  but  she  al- 
ways did  read  trash.  You  won't  believe  me,  I  dare 
say,  but  she  actually  tried  to  faint  when  I  kissed 
her  in  the  carriage  after  her  wedding  —  and,  bless 
my  soul,  I  came  to  find  that  she  had  '  Evelina ' 
tucked  away  under  her  cape." 

"  Why,  she  is  the  most  sensible  woman  in  the 
world,"  said  Betty,  "  and  I'm  quite  sure  that  she 
was  only  fitting  herself  to  your  ideas,  sir.  No,  you 
can't  make  me  believe  it  of  Mrs.  Lightfoot." 

"  My  ideas  never  took  the  shape  of  an  Evelina," 
dissented  the  Major,  warmly,  "  but  it's  a  dangerous 
taste,  my  dear,  the  taste  for  trash.  I've  always  said 
that  it  ruined  poor  Jane,  with  all  her  pride.  She 
got  into  her  head  all  kind  of  notions  about  that 
scamp  Mont  joy,  with  his  pale  face  and  his  long 
black  hair.  Poor  girl,  poor  girl!  I  tried  to  bring 
her  up  on  Homer  and  Milton,  but  she  took  to  her 
mother's  bookshelf  as  a  duck  to  water."  He  wiped 
his  eyes,  and  Betty  patted  his  hand,  and  wondered  if 
"  the  scamp  Mont  joy  "  looked  the  least  bit  like  his 
son. 

When  they  reached  Chericoke  she  shook  hands 
with  the  servants  and  ran  upstairs  to  Mrs.  Light- 
foot's  chamber.    The  old  lady,  in  her  ruffled  night- 


Betty's  Unbelief  199 

cap,  which  she  always  put  on  when  she  took  to 
bed,  was  sitting  upright  under  her  dimity  curtains, 
weeping  over  "  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw."  There  was 
a  little  bookstand  at  her  bedside  filled  with  her 
favourite  romances,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year  she  would  start  systematically  to  read  from  the 
first  volume  upon  the  top  shelf  to  the  last  one  ia 
the  corner  near  the  door.  "  None  of  your  new- 
fangled writers  for  me,  my  dear,"  she  would  pro- 
test, snapping  her  fingers  at  literature.  "  Why, 
they  haven't  enough  sentiment  to  give  their  hero  a 
title  —  and  an  untitled  hero !  I  declare,  I'd  as  lief 
have  a  plain  heroine,  and,  before  you  know  it,  they'll 
be  writing  about  their  Sukey  Sues,  with  pug  noses, 
who  eloped  with  their  Bill  Bates,  from  the  nearest 
butcher  shop.  Ugh !  don't  talk  to  me  about  them ! 
I  opened  one  of  Mr.  Dickens's  stories  the  other  day 
and  it  was  actually  about  a  chimney  sweep  —  a 
common  chimney  sweep  from  a  workhouse! 
Why,  I  really  felt  as  if  I  had  been  keeping  low 
society." 

Now,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Betty,  she  laid  aside 
her  book,  wiped  her  eyes  on  a  stiffly  folded  hand- 
kerchief, and  became  cheerful  at  once.  "  I  warned 
Mr.  Lightfoot  not  to  dare  to  show  his  face  without 
you,"  she  began ;  "  so  I  suppose  he  brought  you  off 
by  force." 

"  I  was  only  too  glad  to  come,"  replied  Betty, 
kissing  her ;  "  but  what  must  I  do  for  you  first  ? 
Shall  I  rub  your  head  with  bay  rum?" 

"  There's  nothing  on  earth  the  matter  with  my 
head,  child,"  retorted  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  promptly, 
*'  but  you  may  go  downstairs,  as  soon  as  you  take 


aoo  The  Battle- Ground 

off  your  things,  and  make  me  some  decent  tea  and 
toast.  Cupid  brought  me  up  two  waiters  at  dinner, 
and  I  wouldn't  touch  either  of  them  with  a  ten- 
foot  pole." 

Betty  took  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and  hung 
them  on  a  chair.  "  I'll  go  down  at  once  and  see 
about  it,"  she  answered,  "  and  I'll  make  Car'line 
put  away  my  things.  It's  my  old  room  I'm  to  have, 
I  suppose." 

"  It's  the  whole  house,  if  you  want  it,  only  don't 
let  any  of  the  darkies  have  a  hand  at  my  tea.  It's 
their  nature  to  slop." 

"  But  it  isn't  mine,"  Betty  answered  her,  and  ran, 
laughing,  down  into  the  dining  room. 

"  Dar  ain'  been  no  sich  chunes  sense  young  Miss 
rid  away  in  de  dead  er  de  night  time,"  muttered 
Cupid,  in  the  pantry.  "  Lawd,  Lawd,  I  des  wish 
you'd  teck  up  wid  Marse  Champe,  en  move  'long 
over  hyer  fer  good  en  all.  I  reckon  dar  'ud  be  times, 
den,  I  reckon,  dar  'ould." 

"  There  are  going  to  be  times  now,  Uncle  Cupid," 
responded  Betty,  cheerfully,  as  she  arranged  the 
tray  for  Mrs.  Lightfoot.  "  I'm  going  to  make  some 
tea  and  toast  right  on  this  fire  for  your  old  Miss. 
You  bring  the  kettle,  and  I'll  slice  the  bread." 

Cupid  brought  the  kettle,  grumbling.  "  I  ain' 
never  hyern  tell  er  sich  a  mouf  es  ole  Miss  es  got," 
he  muttered.  "  I  ain'  sayin'  nuttin'  agin  er  stom- 
ick,  case  she  ain'  never  let  de  stuff  git  down  dat 
fur  —  en  de  stomick  hit  ain'  never  tase  it  yit." 

"  Oh,  stop  grumbling,  Uncle  Cupid,"  returned 
Betty,  moving  briskly  about  the  room.  She  brought 
the  daintiest  tea  cup  from  the  old  sideboard,  and 


Betty's  Unbelief  201 

leaned  out  of  the  window  to  pluck  a  late  micro- 
phylla  rosebud  from  the  creeper  upon  the  porch. 
Then,  with  the  bread  on  the  end  of  a  long 
fork,  she  sat  before  the  fire  and  asked  Cupid 
about  the  health  and  fortunes  of  the  house  servants 
and  the  field  hands. 

"  I  ain'  mix  wid  no  fiel'  han's,"  grunted  Cupid, 
with  a  social  pride  befitting  the  Major.  "  Dar  ain' 
no  use  er  my  mixin'  en  I  ain'  mix.  Dey  stay  in  dere 
place  en  I  stay  in  my  place  —  en  dere  place  hit's 
de  quarters,  en  my  place  hit's  de  dinin'  '00m." 

"  But  Aunt  Rhody  —  how's  she  ?  "  inquired  Betty, 
pleasantly,  "  and  Big  Abel  ?  He  didn't  go  back  to 
college,  did  he  ?  " 

"  Zeke,  he  went,"  replied  Cupid,  "  en  Big  Abel 
he  wuz  bleeged  ter  stay  behint  'case  his  wife  Saphiry 
she  des  put  'er  foot  right  down.  Ef'n  he  'uz  gwine 
off  again,  sez  she,  she  'uz  des  gwine  tu'n  right  in  en 
git  mah'ed  agin.  She  ain'  so  sho',  nohow,  dat  two 
husban's  ain'  better'n  one,  is  Saphiry,  en  she  got 
'mos'  a  min'  ter  try  hit.  So  Big  Abel  he  des  stayed 
behint." 

"  That  was  wise  of  Big  Abel,"  remarked  Betty. 
"  Now  open  the  door,  Uncle  Cupid,  and  I'll  carry 
this  upstairs,"  and  as  Cupid  threw  open  the  door, 
she  went  out,  holding  the  tray  before  her. 

The  old  lady  received  her  graciously,  ate  the 
toast  and  drank  the  tea,  and  even  admitted  that 
it  couldn't  have  been  better  if  she  had  made  it  with 
her  own  hands.  "  I  think  that  you  will  have  to 
come  and  live  with  me,  Betty,"  she  said  good- 
humouredly.  "  What  a  pity  you  can't  fancy  one  of 
those  useless  boys  of  mine.    Not  that  I'd  have  you 


202  The  Battle-Ground 

marry  Dan,  child,  the  Major  has  spoiled  him  to 
death,  and  now  he's  beginning  to  repent  it;  but 
Champe,  Champe  is  a  good  and  clever  lad  and 
would  make  a  mild  and  amiable  husband,  I  am 
sure.  Don't  marry  a  man  with  too  much  spirit,  my 
dear;  if  a  man  has  any  extra  spirit,  he  usually  ex- 
pends it  in  breaking  his  wife's." 

"  Oh,  I  shan't  marry  yet  awhile,"  replied  Betty, 
looking  out  upon  the  falling  autumn  leaves. 

"  So  I  said  the  day  before  I  married  Mr.  Light- 
foot,"  rejoined  the  old  lady,  settling  her  pillows, 
"  and  now,  if  you  have  nothing  better  to  do,  you 
might  read  me  a  chapter  of  '  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  ' ; 
you  will  find  it  to  be  a  book  of  very  pretty  senti- 
ment." 


IX 

THE   MONTJOY   BLOOD 

In  the  morning  Betty  was  awakened  by  the  tap- 
ping of  the  elm  boughs  on  the  roof  above  her.  An 
autumn  wind  was  blowing  straight  from  the  west, 
and  when  she  looked  out  through  the  small  greenish 
panes  of  glass,  she  saw  eddies  of  yellowed  leaves 
beating  gently  against  the  old  brick  walls.  Over- 
head light  gray  clouds  were  flying  across  the  sky, 
and  beyond  the  waving  tree-tops  a  white  mist  hung 
above  the  dim  blue  chain  of  mountains. 

When  she  went  downstairs  she  found  the  Major, 
in  his  best  black  broadcloth,  pacing  up  and  down 
before  the  house.  It  was  Sunday,  and  he  intended  to 
drive  into  town  where  the  rector  held  his  services. 

"  You  won't  go  in  with  me,- 1  reckon  ?  "  he  ven- 
tured hopefully,  when  Betty  smiled  out  upon  him 
from  the  library  window.  "  Ah,  my  dear,  you're  as 
fresh  as  the  morning,  and  only  an  old  man  to  look 
at  you.  Well,  well,  age  has  its  consolations ;  you'll 
spare  me  a  kiss,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Then  you  must  come  in  to  get  it,"  answered 
Betty,  her  eyes  narrowing.  "  Breakfast  is  getting 
cold,  and  Cupid  is  calling  down  Aunt  Rhody's  wrath 
upon  your  head." 

"  Oh,  I'll  come,  I'll  come,"  returned  the  Major, 
hurrying  up  the  steps,  and  adding  as  he  entered  the 
203 


204  The  Battle-Ground 

dining  room,  "  My  child,  if  you'd  only  take  a  fancy 
to  Champe,  I'd  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth." 

"  Now  I  shan't  allow  any  matchmaking  on  Sun- 
day," said  Betty,  warningly,  as  she  prepared  Mrs. 
Lightfoot's  breakfast.  "  Sit  down  and  carve  the 
chicken  while  I  run  upstairs  with  this." 

She  went  out  and  came  back  in  a  moment,  laugh- 
ing merrily.  "  Do  you  know,  she  threatens  to  be- 
come bedridden  now  that  I  am  here  to  fix  her  trays," 
she  explained,  sitting  down  between  the  tall  silver 
urns  and  pouring  out  the  Major's  coffee.  "  What 
an  uncertain  day  you  have  for  church,"  she  added  as 
she  gave  his  cup  to  Cupid. 

With  his  eyes  on  her  vivid  face  the  old  man  lis- 
tened rapturously  to  her  fresh  young  voice  —  the 
voice,  he  said,  that  always  made  him  think  of  clear 
water  falling  over  stones.  It  was  one  of  the  things 
that  came  to  her  from  Peyton  Ambler,  he  knew, 
with  her  warm  hazel  eyes  and  the  sweet,  strong 
curve  of  her  mouth.  "  Ah,  but  you're  like  your 
father,"  he  said  as  he  watched  her.  "  If  you  had 
brown  hair  you'd  be  his  very  image." 

"  I  used  to  wish  that  I  had,"  responded  Betty, 
"  but  I  don't  now  —  I'd  just  as  soon  have  red."  She 
was  thinking  that  Dan  did  not  like  brown  hair  so 
much,  and  the  thought  shone  in  her  face  —  only  the 
Major,  in  his  ignorance,  mistook  its  meaning. 

After  breakfast  he  got  into  the  coach  and  started 
off,  and  Betty,  with  the  key  basket  on  her  arm,  fol- 
lowed Cupid  and  Aunt  Rhody  into  the  storeroom. 
Then  she  gathered  fresh  flowers  for  the  table,  and 
went  upstairs  to  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  to 
Mrs.  Lightfoot. 


The  Montjoy  Blood  205 

The  Major  stayed  to  dinner  in  town,  returning 
late  in  a  moody  humour  and  exhausted  by  his  drive. 
As  Betty  brushed  her  hair  before  her  bureau,  she 
heard  him  talking  in  a  loud  voice  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot, 
and  when  she  went  in  at  supper  time  the  old  lady 
called  her  to  her  bedside  and  took  her  hand. 

"  He  has  had  a  touch  of  the  gout,  Betty,"  she 
whispered  in  her  ear,  "  and  he  heard  some  news  in 
town  which  upset  him  a  little.  You  must  try  to 
cheer  him  up  at  supper,  child." 

"  Was  it  bad  news  ?  "  asked  Betty,  in  alarm. 

"  It  may  not  be  true,  my  dear.  I  hope  it  isn't, 
but,  as  I  told  Mr.  Lightfoot,  it  is  always  better  to 
believe  the  worst,  so  if  any  surprise  comes  it  may  be 
a  pleasant  one.  Somebody  told  him  in  church  —  and 
they  had  much  better  have  been  attending  to  the 
service,  I'm  sure,  —  that  Dan  had  gotten  into  trouble 
again,  and  Mr.  Lightfoot  is  very  angry  about  it. 
He  had  a  talk  with  the  boy  before  he  went  away, 
and  made  him  promise  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  this 
year  —  but  it  seems  this  is  the  most  serious  thing 
that  has  happened  yet.  I  must  say  I  always  told 
Mr.  Lightfoot  it  was  what  he  had  to  expect." 

"  In  trouble  again  ?  "  repeated  Betty,  kneeling  by 
the  bed.  Her  hands  went  cold,  and  she  pressed  them 
nervously  together. 

"  Of  course  we  know  very  little  about  it,  my  dear," 
pursued  Mrs.  Lightfoot.  "  All  we  have  heard  is 
that  he  fought  a  duel  and  was  sent  away  from  the 
University.  He  was  even  put  into  gaol  for  a  night, 
I  believe— -a  Lightfoot  in  a  common  dirty  gaol! 
Well,  well,  as  I  said  before,  all  we  can  do  now  is  to 
expect  the  worst." 


io6  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  cried  Betty,  and  the  leaping  of 
her  heart  told  her  the  horror  of  her  dim  foreboding. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  and  smiled  brightly  down  upon 
the  astonished  old  lady. 

"  I  don't  know  what  more  you  want,"  replied 
Mrs.  Lightfoot,  tartly.  "  If  he  ever  gets  clean 
again  after  a  whole  night  in  a  common  gaol,  I  must 
say  I  don't  see  how  he'll  manage  it.  But  if  you 
aren't  satisfied  I  can  only  tell  you  that  the  affair  was 
all  about  some  bar-room  wench,  and  that  the  papers 
will  be  full  of  it.  Not  that  the  boy  was  anything  but 
foolish,"  she  added  hastily.  "  I'll  do  him  the  justice 
to  admit  that  he's  more  of  a  fool  than  a  villain — - 
and  I  hardly  know  whether  it's  a  compliment  that 
I'm  paying  him  or  not.  He  got  some  quixotic  no- 
tion into  his  head  that  Harry  Maupin  insulted  the 
girl  in  his  presence,  and  he  called  him  to  account 
for  it.  As  if  the  honour  of  a  barkeeper's  daughter 
was  the  concern  of  any  gentleman !  " 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Betty,  and  caught  her  breath.  The 
word  went  out  of  her  in  a  sudden  burst  of  joy,  but 
the  joy  was  so  sharp  that  a  moment  afterwards  she 
hid  her  wet  face  in  the  bedclothes  and  sobbed  softly 
to  herself. 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Lightfoot  would  have  taken  it 
so  hard  but  for  Virginia,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  her 
keen  eyes  on  the  girl.  "  You  know  he  has  always 
wanted  to  bring  Dan  and  Virginia  together,  and  he 
seems  to  think  that  the  boy  has  been  dishonourable 
about  it." 

"  But  Virginia  doesn't  care  —  she  doesn't  care," 
protested  Betty. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Light- 


The  Montjoy   Blood  207 

foot,  relieved,  "  and  I  hope  the  foolish  boy  will  stay 
away  long  enough  for  his  grandfather  to  cool  off. 
Mr.  Lightfoot  is  a  high-tempered  man,  my  child. 
I've  spent  fifty  years  in  keeping  him  at  peace  with 
the  world.  There  now,  run  down  and  cheer  him 
up." 

She  lay  back  among  her  pillows,  and  Betty  leaned 
over  and  kissed  her  with  cold  lips  before  she  dried 
her  eyes  and  went  downstairs  to  find  the  Major. 

With  the  first  glance  at  his  face  she  saw  that  Dan's 
cause  was  hopeless  for  the  hour,  and  she  set  herself, 
with  a  cheerful  countenance,  to  a  discussion  of  the 
trivial  happenings  of  the  day.  She  talked  pleasantly 
of  the  rector's  sermon,  of  the  morning  reading  with 
Mrs.  Lightfoot,  and  of  a  great  hawk  that  had  ap- 
peared suddenly  in  the  air  and  raised  an  outcry 
among  the  turkeys  on  the  lawn.  When  these  topics 
were  worn  threadbare  she  bethought  herself  of  the 
beauty  of  the  autumn  woods,  and  lamented  the 
ruined  garden  with  its  last  sad  flowers. 

The  Major  listened  gloomily,  putting  in  a  word 
now  and  then,  and  keeping  his  weak  red  eyes  upon 
his  plate.  There  was  a  heavy  cloud  on  his  brow, 
and  the  flush  that  Betty  had  learned  to  dread  was  in 
his  face.  Once  when  she  spoke  carelessly  of  Dan, 
he  threw  out  an  angry  gesture  and  inquired  if  she 
"  found  Mrs.  Lightfoot  easier  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  so,"  replied  the  girl,  and  then,  as 
they  rose  from  the  table,  she  slipped  her  hand 
through  his  arm  and  went  with  him  into  the  library. 

"  Shall  I  sit  with  you  this  evening  ?  "  she  asked 
timidly.  "  I'd  be  §0  glad  to  read  to  you,  if  you 
would  let  me." 


2o8  The  Battle-Ground 

He  shook  his  head,  patted  her  affectionately  upon 
the  shoulder,  and  smiled  down  into  her  upraised 
face.  "  No,  no,  my  dear,  I've  a  little  work  to  do," 
he  replied  kindly.  "  There  are  a  few  papers  I  want 
to  look  over,  so  run  up  to  Molly  and  tell  her  I  sent 
my  sunshine  to  her." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  cheek ;  and  Betty,  with 
a  troubled  heart,  went  slowly  up  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot's 
chamber. 

The  Major  sat  down  at  his  writing  table,  and 
spread  his  papers  out  before  him.  Then  he  raised 
the  wick  of  his  lamp,  and  with  his  pen  in  his  hand, 
resolutely  set  himself  to  his  task.  When  Cupid  came 
in  with  the  decanter  of  Burgundy,  he  filled  a  glass 
and  held  it  absently  against  the  light,  but  he  did  not 
drink  it,  and  in  a  moment  he  put  it  down  with  so 
tremulous  a  hand  that  the  wine  spilled  upon  the 
floor. 

"  I've  a  touch  of  the  gout,  Cupid,"  he  said  testily. 
"  A  touch  of  the  gout  that's  been  hanging  over  me 
for  a  month  or  more." 

"  Huccome  you  ain'  fit  hit,  Ole  Marster  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  been  fighting  it  tooth  and  nail,"  an- 
swered the  old  gentleman,  "  but  there  are  some 
things  that  always  get  the  better  of  you  in  the  end, 
Cupid,  and  the  gout's  one  of  them." 

"  En  rheumaticks  hit's  anurr,"  added  Cupid,  rub- 
bing his  knee. 

He  rolled  a  fresh  log  upon  the  andirons  and  went 
out,  while  the  Major  returned,  frowning,  to  his 
work. 

He  was  still  at  his  writing  table,  when  He  heard 
the  sound  of  a  horse  trotting  in  the  drive,  and  an 


The  Montjoy  Blood  209 

instant  afterwards  the  quick  fall  of  the  old  brass 
knocker.  The  flush  deepened  in  his  face,  and  with 
a  look  at  once  angry  and  appealing,  he  half  rose 
from  his  chair.  As  he  waited  the  outside  bars  were 
withdrawn,  there  followed  a  few  short  steps  across 
the  hall,  and  Dan  came  into  the  library. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what's  brought  me  back, 
grandpa  ?  "  he  said  quietly  as  he  entered. 

The  Major  started  up  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  I  do  know,  sir,  and  I  wish  to  God  I  didn't,"  he 
replied,  choking  in  his  anger. 

Dan  stood  where  he  had  halted  upon  his  entrance, 
and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  in  which  there  was  still 
a  defiant  humour.  His  face  was  pale  and  his  hair 
hung  in  black  streaks  across  his  forehead.  The 
white  dust  of  the  turnpike  had  settled  upon  his 
clothes,  and  as  he  moved  it  floated  in  a  little  cloud 
about  him. 

"  I  reckon  you  think  it's  a  pretty  bad  thing,  eh?  " 
he  questioned  coolly,  though  his  hands  trembled. 

The  Major's  eyes  flashed  ominously  from  beneath 
his  heavy  brows. 

"  Pretty  bad? "  he  repeated,  taking  a  long  breath. 
"  If  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  about  it,  sir,  I 
think  that  it's  a  damnable  disgrace.  Pretty  bad !  — • 
By  God,  sir,  do  you  call  having  a  gaol-bird  for  a 
grandson  pretty  bad  ?  " 

"  Stop,  sir ! "  called  Dan,  sharply.  He  had 
steadied  himself  to  withstand  the  shock  of  the 
Major's  temper,  but,  in  the  dash  of  his  youthful 
folly,  he  had  forgotten  to  reckon  with  his  own. 
"  For  heaven's  sake,  let's  talk  about  it  calmly,"  he 
added  irritably. 


210  The  Battle-Ground 

"  I  am  perfectly  calm,  sir !  "  thundered  the  Major, 
rising  to  his  feet.  The  terrible  flush  went  in  a  wave 
to  his  forehead,  and  he  put  up  one  quivering  hand 
to  loosen  his  high  stock.  "  I  tell  you  calmly  that 
you've  done  a  damnable  thing ;  that  you've  brought 
disgrace  upon  the  name  of  Lightfoot." 

"  It  is  not  my  name,"  replied  Dan,  lifting  his 
head.    "  My  name  is  Montjoy,  sir." 

"  And  it's  a  name  to  hang  a  dog  for,"  retorted  the 
Major. 

As  they  faced  each  other  with  the  same  flash  of 
temper  kindling  in  both  faces,  the  likeness  between 
them  grew  suddenly  more  striking.  It  was  as  if  the 
spirit  of  the  fiery  old  man  had  risen,  in  a  finer  and 
younger  shape,  from  the  air  before  him. 

"  At  all  events  it  is  not  yours,"  said  Dan,  hotly. 
Then  he  came  nearer,  and  the  anger  died  out  of  his 
eyes.  "  Don't  let's  quarrel,  grandpa,"  he  pleaded. 
"  I've  gotten  into  a  mess,  and  I'm  sorry  for  it  —  on 
my  word  I  am." 

"  So  you've  come  whining  to  me  to  get  you  out," 
returned  the  Major,  shaking  as  if  he  had  gone  sud- 
denly palsied. 

Dan  drew  back  and  his  hand  fell  to  his  side. 

"  So  help  me  God,  I'll  never  whine  to  you  again," 
he  answered. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  what  you  have  done, 
sir?"  demanded  the  Major.  "You  have  broken 
your  grandmother's  heart  and  mine  —  and  made  us 
wish  that  we  had  left  you  by  the  roadside  when  you 
came  crawling  to  our  door.  And,  on  my  oath,  if  I 
had  known  that  the  day  would  ever  come  when  you 
would  try  to  murder  a  Virginia  gentleman  for  the 


The  Montjoy  Blood  in 

sake  of  a  bar-room  hussy,  I  would  have  left  you 
there,  sir." 

"  Stop !  "  said  Dan  again,  looking  at  the  old  man 
with  his  mother's  eyes. 

"  You  have  broken  your  grandmother's  heart  and 
mine,"  repeated  the  Major,  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"  and  I  pray  to  God  that  you  may  not  break  Virginia 
Ambler's  —  poor  girl,  poor  girl !  " 

"Virginia  Ambler!"  said  Dan,  slowly.  "Why, 
there  was  nothing  between  us,  nothing,  nothing." 

"  And  you  dare  to  tell  me  this  to  my  face,  sir  ? " 
cried  the  Major. 

"  Dare !  of  course  I  dare,"  returned  Dan,  defi- 
antly. "  If  there  was  ever  anything  at  all  it  was 
upon  my  side  only  —  and  a  mere  trifling  fancy." 

The  old  gentleman  brought  his  hand  down  upon 
his  table  with  a  blow  that  sent  the  papers  fluttering 
to  the  floor.  "  Trifling !  "  he  roared.  "  Would  you 
trifle  with  a  lady  from  your  own  state,  sir  ? " 

"  I  was  never  in  love  with  her,"  exclaimed  Dan, 
angrily. 

"  Not  in  love  with  her?  What  business  have  you 
not  to  be  in  love  with  her?"  retorted  the  Major, 
tossing  back  his  long  white  hair.  "  I  have  given 
her  to  understand  that  you  are  in  love  with  her, 
sir." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Dan's  head,  and  he  stumbled 
over  an  ottoman  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Then  I  call  it  unwarrantable  interference,"  he 
said  brutally,  and  went  toward  the  door.  There  the 
Major's  flashing  eyes  held  him  back  an  instant. 

"  It  was  when  I  believed  you  to  be  worthy  of 
her,"  went  on  the  old  man,  relentlessly,  "  when  — 


212  The  Battle-Ground 

fool  that  I  was  —  I  dared  to  hope  that  dirty  blood 
could  be  made  clean  again;  that  Jack  Montjoy's  son 
could  be  a  gentleman." 

For  a  moment  only  Dan  stood  motionless  and 
looked  at  him  from  the  threshold.  Then,  without 
speaking,  he  crossed  the  hall,  took  down  his  hat,  and 
unbarred  the  outer  door.  It  slammed  after  him,  and 
he  went  out  into  the  night. 

A  keen  wind  was  still  blowing,  and  as  he  de- 
scended the  steps  he  felt  it  lifting  the  dampened 
hair  from  his  forehead.  With  a  breath  of  relief  he 
stood  bareheaded  in  the  drive  and  raised  his  face  to 
the  cool  elm  leaves  that  drifted  slowly  down.  After 
the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  library  there  was 
something  pleasant  in  the  mere  absence  of  light, 
and  in  the  soft  rustling  of  the  branches  overhead. 
The  humour  of  his  blood  went  suddenly  quiet  as  if 
he  had  plunged  headlong  into  cold  water. 

While  he  stood  there  motionless  his  thoughts  were 
suspended,  and  his  senses,  gaining  a  brief  mastery, 
became  almost  feverishly  alert;  he  felt  the  night 
wind  in  his  face,  he  heard  the  ceaseless  stirring  of 
the  leaves,  and  he  saw  the  sparkle  of  the  gravel  in 
the  yellow  shine  that  streamed  from  the  library 
windows.  But  with  his  first  step,  his  first  move- 
ment, there  came  a  swift  recoil  of  his  anger,  and  he 
told  himself  with  a  touch  of  youthful  rhetoric,  "  that 
come  what  would,  he  was  going  to  the  devil  —  and 
going  speedily." 

He  had  reached  the  gate  and  his  hand  was  upon 
the  latch,  when  he  heard  the  house  door  open  and 
shut  behind  him  and  his  name  called  softly  from 
the  steps. 


The  Montjoy  Blood  213 

He  turned  impulsively  and  stood  waiting,  while 
Betty  came  quickly  through  the  lamplight  that  fell 
in  squares  upon  the  drive. 

"  Oh,  come  back,  Dan,  come  back,"  she  said 
breathlessly. 

With  his  hand  still  on  the  gate  he  faced  her, 
frowning. 

"  I'd  die  first,  Betty,"  he  answered. 

She  came  swiftly  up  to  him  and  stood,  very  pale, 
in  the  faint  starlight  that  shone  between  the  broken 
clouds.  A  knitted  shawl  was  over  her  shoulders, 
but  her  head  was  bare  and  her  hair  made  a  glow 
around  her  face.  Her  eyes  entreated  him  before 
she  spoke. 

"  Oh,  Dan,  come  back,"  she  pleaded. 

He  laughed  angrily  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I'll  die  first,  Betty,"  he  repeated.  "  Die !  I'd 
die  a  hundred  times  first !  " 

"  He  is  so  old,"  she  said  appealingly.  "  It  is  not 
as  if  he  were  young  and  quite  himself,  Dan  —  Oh, 
it  is  not  like  that  —  but  he  loves  you,  and  he  is  so 
old." 

"  Don't,  Betty,"  he  broke  in  quickly,  and  added 
bitterly,  "  Are  you,  too,  against  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  for  the  best  in  you,"  she  answered  quietly, 
and  turned  away  from  him. 

"  The  best ! "  he  snapped  his  fingers  impatiently. 
"  Are  you  for  the  shot  at  Maupin  ?  the  night  I  spent 
in  gaol  ?  or  the  beggar  I  am  now  ?  There's  an  equal 
choice,  I  reckon." 

She  looked  gravely  up  at  him. 

"  I  am  for  the  boy  I've  always  known,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  for  the  man  who  was  here  two  weeks 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 10 


214  The  Battle-Ground 

ago  —  and  —  yes,  I  am  for  the  man  who  stands 
here  now.  What  does  it  matter,  Dan?  What  does 
it  matter  ?  " 

"  O,  Betty ! "  he  cried  breathlessly,  and  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands. 

"  And  most  of  all,  I  am  for  the  man  you 
are  going  to  be,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "  for  the 
great  man  who  is  growing  up.  Dan,  come 
back!" 

His  hands  fell  from  his  eyes.  "  I'll  not  do  that 
even  for  you,  Betty,"  he  answered,  "  and,  God 
knows,  there's  little  else  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  — 
there's  nothing  else." 

"  What  will  you  do  for  yourself,  Dan?  " 

"  For  myself  ?  "  his  anger  leaped  out  again,  and 
he  steadied  himself  against  the  gate.  "  For  myself 
I'll  go  as  far  as  I  can  from  this  damned  place.  I 
wish  to  God  I'd  fallen  in  the  road  before  I  came 
here.  I  wish  I'd  gone  after  my  father  and  followed 
in  his  steps.  I'll  live  on  no  man's  charity,  so  help 
me  God.  Am  I  a  dog  to  be  kicked  out  and  to  go 
whining  back  when  the  door  opens  ?  Go  —  I'll  go 
to  the  devil,  and  be  glad  of  it !  "  For  a  moment 
Betty  did  not  answer.  Her  hands  were  clasped  on 
her  bosom,  and  her  eyes  were  dark  and  bright  in 
the  pallor  of  her  face.  As  he  looked  at  her  the  rage 
died  out  of  his  voice,  and  it  quivered  with  a  deeper 
feeling. 

"  My  dear,  my  dearest,  are  you,  too,  against  me?  " 
he  asked. 

She  met  his  gaze  without  flinching,  but  the  bright 
colour  swept  suddenly  to  her  cheeks  and  dyed  them 
crimson. 


The   Montjoy  Blood  215 

"  Then  if  you  will  go,  take  me  with  you,"  she 
said. 

He  fell  back  as  if  a  star  had  dropped  at  his  feet. 
For  a  breathless  instant  she  saw  only  his  eyes,  and 
they  drew  her  step  by  step.  Then  he  opened  his 
arms  and  she  went  straight  into  them. 

"  Betty,  Betty,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  and  kissed 
her  lips. 

She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and 
stood  with  his  arms  about  her,  looking  up  into  his 
face. 

"  Take  me  with  you  —  oh,  take  me  with  you," 
she  entreated.  "  1  can't  be  left.  Take  me  with 
you." 

"  And  you  love  me  —  Betty,  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life  —  all  my  life,"  she 
answered ;  "  how  can  I  begin  to  unlove  you  now  — ■ 
now  when  it  is  too  late?  Do  you  think  I  am  any 
the  less  yours  if  you  throw  me  away?  If  .you  break 
my  heart  can  I  help  its  still  loving  you  ?  " 

"  Betty,  Betty,"  he  said  again,  and  his  voice  quiv- 
ered. 

"  Take  me  with  you,"  she  repeated  passionately, 
saying  it  over  and  over  again  with  her  lips  upon  his 
arm. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  almost  roughly,  and 
then  put  her  gently  away  from  him. 

"  It  is  the  way  my  mother  went,"  he  said,  "  and 
God  help  me,  I  am  my  father's  son.  I  am  afraid, 
—  afraid  —  do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  " 

"  But  I  am  not  afraid,"  answered  the  girl  steadily. 

He  shivered  and  turned  away ;  then  he  came  back 
and  knelt  down  to  kiss  her  skirt.    "  No,  I  can't  take 


216  The  Battle-Ground 

you  with  me,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  "  but  if  I  live  to 
be  a  man  I  shall  come  back  —  I  will  come  back  — 
and  you  —  " 

"  And  I  am  waiting,"  she  replied. 

He  opened  the  gate  and  passed  out  into  the  road. 

"  I  will  come  back,  beloved,"  he  said  again,  and 
went  on  into  the  darkness. 

Leaning  over  the  gate  she  strained  her  eyes  into 
the  shadows,  crying  his  name  out  into  the  night. 
Her  voice  broke  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  arm; 
then,  fearing  to  lose  the  last  glimpse  of  him,  she 
looked  up  quickly  and  sobbed  to  him  to  come  back 
for  a  moment  —  but  for  a  moment.  It  seemed  to 
her,  clinging  there  upon  the  gate,  that  when  he  went 
out  into  the  darkness  he  had  gone  forever  —  that 
the  thud  of  his  footsteps  in  the  dust  was  the 
last  sound  that  would  ever  come  from  him  to 
her  ears. 

Had  he  looked  back  she  would  have  gone  straight 
out  to  him,  had  he  raised  a  finger  she  would  have 
followed  with  a  cheerful  face;  but  he  did  not  look 
back,  and  at  last  his  footsteps  died  away  upon  the 
road. 

When  she  could  see  or  hear  nothing  more  of  him, 
she  turned  slowly  and  crept  toward  the  house.  Her 
feet  dragged  under  her,  and  as  she  walked  she  cast 
back  startled  glances  at  the  gate.  The  rustling  of 
the  leaves  made  her  stand  breathless  a  moment,  her 
hand  at  her  bosom;  but  it  was  only  the  wind,  and 
she  went  step  by  step  into  the  house,  turning  upon 
the  threshold  to  throw  a  look  behind  her. 

In  the  hall  she  paused  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
library  door,  but  the  Major  had  bolted  her  out,  and 


The  Montjoy  Blood  217 

she  heard  him  pacing  with  restless  strides  up  and 
down  the  room.  She  listened  timidly  awhile,  then, 
going  softly  by,  went  up  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot. 

The  old  lady  was  asleep,  but  as  the  girl  entered 
she  awoke  and  sat  up,  very  straight,  in  bed.  "  My 
pain  is  much  worse,  Betty,"  she  complained.  "  I 
don't  expect  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep  this  entire 
night." 

"  I  thought  you  were  asleep  when  I  came  in,"  an- 
swered Betty,  keeping  away  from  the  candlelight; 
"  but  I  am  so  sorry  you  are  in  pain.  Shall  I  make 
you  a  mustard  plaster  ?  " 

Though  she  smiled,  her  voice  was  spiritless  and 
she  moved  with  an  effort.  She  felt  suddenly  very 
tired,  and  she  wanted  to  lie  down  somewhere  alone 
in  the  darkness. 

"  I'd  just  dropped  off  when  Mr.  Lightfoot  woke 
me  slamming  the  doors,"  pursued  the  old  lady, 
querulously.  "  Men  have  so  little  consideration  that 
nothing  surprises  me,  but  I  do  think  he  might  be 
more  careful  when  he  knows  I  am  suffering.  No, 
I  won't  take  the  mustard  plaster,  but  you  may  bring 
me  a  cup  of  hot  milk,  if  you  will.  It  sometimes 
sends  me  off  into  a  doze." 

Betty  went  slowly  downstairs  again  and  heated 
the  milk  on  the  dining-room  fire.  When  it  was  ready 
she  daintily  arranged  it  upon  a  tray  and  carried  it 
upstairs.  "  I  hope  it  will  do  you  good,"  she  said 
gently  as  she  gave  it  to  the  old  lady.  "  You  must 
try  to  lie  quiet  —  the  doctor  told  you  so." 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  drank  the  milk  and  remarked 
amiably  that  it  was  "  very  nice  though  a  little 
smoked  —  and  now,  go  to  bed,  my  dear,"  she  added 


218  The  Battle-Ground 

kindly.  "  I  mustn't  keep  you  from  your  beauty 
sleep.    I'm  afraid  I've  worn  you  out  as  it  is." 

Betty  smiled  and  shook  her  head ;  then  she  placed 
the  tray  upon  a  chair,  and  went  out,  softly  closing 
the  door  after  her. 

In  her  own  room  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bed, 
and  cried  for  Dan  until  the  morning. 


THE    ROAD    AT    MIDNIGHT 

When  Dan  went  down  into  the  shadows  of  the 
road,  he  stopped  short  before  he  reached  the  end  of 
the  stone  wall,  and  turned  for  his  last  look  at 
Chericoke.  He  saw  the  long  old  house,  with  its 
peaked  roof  over  which  the  elm  boughs  arched,  the 
white  stretch  of  drive  before  the  door,  and  the 
leaves  drifting  ceaselessly  against  the  yellow  squares 
of  the  library  windows.  As  he  looked  Betty  came 
slowly  from  the  shadow  by  the  gate,  where  she  had 
lingered,  and  crossed  the  lighted  spaces  amid  the 
falling  leaves.  On  the  threshold,  as  she  turned  to 
throw  a  glance  into  the  night,  it  seemed  to  him,  for 
a  single  instant,  that  her  eyes  plunged  through  the 
darkness  into  his  own.  Then,  while  his  heart  still 
bounded  with  the  hope,  the  door  opened,  and  shut 
after  her,  and  she  was  gone. 

For  a  moment  he  saw  only  blackness  —  so  sharp 
was  the  quick  shutting  off  of  the  indoor  light.  The 
vague  shapes  upon  the  lawn  showed  like  mere 
drawings  in  outline,  the  road  became  a  pallid  blur 
in  the  formless  distance,  and  the  shine  of  the  lamp- 
light on  the  drive  shifted  and  grew  dim  as  if  a 
curtain  had  dropped  across  the  windows.  Like  a 
white  thread  on  the  blackness  he  saw  the  glimmer 
beneath  his  grandmother's  shutters,  and  it  was  as 

219 


220  The  Battle-Ground 

if  he  had  looked  in  from  the  high  top  of  an  elm  and 
seen  her  lying  with  her  candle  on  her  breast. 

As  he  stood  there  the  silence  of  the  old  house 
knocked  upon  his  heart  like  sound  —  and  quick 
fears  sprang  up  within  him  of  a  sudden  death,  or 
of  Betty  weeping  for  him  somewhere  alone  in  the 
stillness.  The  long  roof  under  the  waving  elm 
boughs  lost,  for  a  heartbeat,  the  likeness  of  his 
home,  and  became,  as  the  clouds  thickened  in  the 
sky,  but  a  great  mound  of  earth  over  which  the 
wind  blew  and  the  dead  leaves  fell. 

But  at  last  when  he  turned  away  and  followed 
the  branch  road,  his  racial  temperament  had  tri- 
umphed over  the  forebodings  of  the  moment;  and 
with  the  flicker  of  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  he 
started  briskly  toward  the  turnpike.  As  the  mind 
in  the  first  ecstasy  of  a  high  passion  is  purified  from 
the  stain  of  mere  emotion,  so  the  Major,  and  the 
Major's  anger,  were  forgotten,  and  his  own  bitter 
resentment  swept  as  suddenly  from  his  thoughts. 
He  was  overpowered  and  uplifted  by  the  one  su- 
preme feeling  from  which  he  still  trembled.  All 
else  seemed  childish  and  of  small  significance  be- 
side the  memory  of  Betty's  lips  upon  his  own. 
What  room  had  he  for  anger  when  he  was  filled  to 
overflowing  with  the  presence  of  love? 

The  branch  road  ran  out  abruptly  into  the  turn- 
pike, and  once  off  the  familiar  way  by  his  grand- 
father's stone  wall,  he  felt  the  blackness  of  the 
night  close  round  him  like  a  vault.  Without  a 
lantern  there  was  small  hope  of  striking  the  tavern 
or  the  tavern  road  till  morning.  To  go  on  meant  a 
night  upon  the  roadside  or  in  the  fields. 


The  Road  at  Midnight  221 

As  he  stretched  out  his  arm,  groping  in  the 
blackness,  he  struck  suddenly  upon  the  body  of  the 
blasted  tree,  and  coming  round  it,  his  eyes  caught 
the  red  light  of  free  Levi's  fire,  and  he  heard  the 
sound  of  a  hammer  falling  upon  heated  iron.  The 
little  path  was  somewhere  in  the  darkness,  and  as 
he  vainly  sought  for  it,  he  stumbled  over  a  row  of 
stripped  and  headless  cornstalks  which  ran  up  to 
the  cabin  door.  Once  upon  the  smooth  stone  before 
the  threshold,  he  gave  a  boyish  whistle  and  lifted 
his  hand  to  knock.  "  It  is  I,  Uncle  Levi  —  there 
are  no  '  hants  '  about,"  he  cried. 

The  hammer  was  thrown  aside,  and  fell  upon  the 
stones,  and  a  moment  afterward,  the  door  flew  back 
quickly,  showing  the  blanched  face  of  free  Levi 
and  the  bright  glow  of  the  hearth.  "  Dis  yer  ain' 
no  time  fur  pranks,"  said  the  old  man,  angrily. 
"  Ain't  yer  ever  gwine  ter  grow  up,  yit  ?  "  and  he 
added,  slowly,  "  Praise  de  Lawd  hit's  you  instid 
er  de  devil." 

"  Oh,  it's  I,  sure  enough,"  returned  Dan,  lightly, 
as  he  came  into  the  cabin.  "  I'm  on  my  way  to 
Merry  Oaks  Tavern,  Uncle  Levi,  —  it's  ten  miles 
off,  you  know,  and  this  blessed  night  is  no  better 
than  an  ink-pot.  I'd  positively  be  ashamed  to  send 
such  a  night  down  on  a  respectable  planet.  It's  that 
old  lantern  of  yours  I  want,  by  the  way,  and  in 
case  it  doesn't  turn  up  again,  take  this  to  buy  a  new 
one.  No,  I  can't  rest  to-night.  This  is  my  work- 
ing time,  and  I  must  be  up  and  doing."  He 
reached  for  the  rusty  old  lantern  behind  the  door, 
and  lighted  it,  laughing  as  he  did  so.  His  face 
was  pale,  and  there  was  a  nervous  tremor  in  his 


222  The  Battle-Ground 

hands,  but  his  voice  had  lost  none  of  its  old  hearti- 
ness. "  Ah,  that's  it,  old  man,"  he  said,  when  the 
light  was  ready.  "  We'll  shake  hands  in  case  it's 
a  long  parting.  This  is  a  jolly  world,  Uncle  Levi,  — 
good-by,  and  God  bless  you,"  and,  leaving  the  old 
man  speechless  on  the  hearth,  he  closed  the  door 
and  went  out  into  the  night. 

On  the  turnpike  again,  with  the  lantern  swinging 
in  his  hand,  he  walked  rapidly  in  the  direction  of 
the  tavern  road,  throwing  quick  flashes  of  light 
before  his  footsteps.  Behind  him  he  heard  the  fall- 
ing of  free  Levi's  hammer,  and  knew  that  the  old 
negro  was  toiling  at  his  rude  forge  for  the  bread 
which  he  would  to-morrow  eat  in  freedom. 

With  the  word  he  tossed  back  his  hair  and 
quickened  his  s.teps,  as  if  he  were  leaving  servitude 
behind  him  in  the  house  at  Chericoke;  and,  as  the 
anger  blazed  up  within  his  heart  he  found  pleasure 
in  the  knowledge  that  at  last  he  was  starting  out  to 
level  his  own  road.  Under  the  clouds  on  the  long 
turnpike  it  all  seemed  so  easy  —  as  easy  as  the  fall- 
ing of  free  Levi's  hammer,  which  had  faded  in  the 
distance. 

What  was  it,  after  all  ?  A  year  or  two  of  struggle 
and  of  attainment,  and  he  would  come  back  flushed 
with  success,  to  clasp  Betty  in  his  arms.  In  a 
dozen  different  ways  he  pictured  to  himself  the  pos- 
sible manner  of  that  home-coming,  obliterating  the 
year  or  two  that  lay  between.  He  saw  himself  a 
great  lawyer  from  a  little  reading  and  a  single 
speech,  or  a  judge  upon  his  bench,  famed  for  his 
classic  teaming  and  his  grave  decisions.  He  had 
only  to  choose,  he  felt,  and  he  might  be  anything  — 


The  Road  at  Midnight  223 

had  they  not  told  him  so  at  college?  did  not  even 
his  grandfather  admit  it?  He  had  only  to  choose 
—  and,  oh,  he  would  choose  well  —  he  would  choose 
to  be  a  man,  and  to  come  riding  back  with  his 
honours  thick  upon  him. 

Looking  ahead,  he  saw  himself  a  few  years  hence, 
as  he  rode  leisurely  homeward  up  the  turnpike, 
while  the  stray  countrymen  he  met  took  off  their 
harvest  hats,  and  stared  wonderingly  long  after 
he  was  gone.  He  saw  the  Governor  hastening 
to  the  road  to  shake  his  hand,  he  saw  his  grand- 
father bowed  with  the  sense  of  his  injustice,  trem- 
ulous with  the  flutter  of  his  pride ;  and.  best  of  all, 
he  saw  Betty  —  Betty,  with  the  rays  of  light  beneath 
her  lashes,  coming  straight  across  the  drive  into 
his  arms. 

And  then  all  else  faded  slowly  from  him  to 
give  place  to  Betty,  and  he  saw  her  growing,  chang- 
ing, brightening,  as  he  had  seen  her  from  her 
childhood  up.  The  small  white  figure  in  the  moon- 
light, the  merry  little  playmate,  hanging  on  his  foot- 
steps, eager  to  run  his  errands,  the  slender  girl,  with 
the  red  braids  and  the  proud  shy  eyes,  and  the 
woman  who  knelt  upon  the  hearth  in  Aunt  x\ilsey's 
cabin,  smiling  up  at  him  as  she  dried  her  hair  — 
all  gathered  round  him  now  illuminated  against 
the  darkness  of  the  night.  Betty,  Betty,  —  he  whis- 
pered her  name  softly  beneath  his  breath,  he  spoke 
it  aloud  in  the  silence  of  the  turnpike,  he  even  cried 
it  out  against  the  mountains,  and  waited  for  the 
echo  —  Betty,  Betty.  There  was  not  only  sweetness 
in  the  thought  of  her,  there  was  strength  also.  The 
hand  that  had  held  him  back  when  he  would  have 


a  24  The  Battle-Ground 

gone  out  blindly  in  his  passion  was  the  Hand  of  a 
woman,  not  of  a  girl  —  of  a  woman  who  could  face 
life  smiling  because  she  felt  deep  in  herself  the 
power  to  conquer  it.  Two  days  ago  she  had  been 
but  the  girl  he  loved,  to-night,  with  her  kisses  on 
his  lips,  she  had  become  for  him  at  once  a  shield 
and  a  religion.  He  looked  outward  and  saw  her 
influence  a  light  upon  his  pathway;  he  turned  his 
gaze  within  and  found  her  a  part  of  the  sacred 
forces  of  his  life  —  of  his  wistful  childhood,  his 
boyish  purity,  and  the  memory  of  his  mother. 

He  had  passed  Uplands,  and  now,  as  he  followed 
the  tavern  way,  he  held  the  flash  of  his  lantern  near 
the  ground,  and  went  slowly  by  the  crumbling  hol- 
lows in  the  strip  of  "  corduroy  "  road.  There  was 
a  thick  carpet  of  moist  leaves  underfoot,  and  above 
the  wind  played  lightly  among  the  overhanging 
branches.  His  lantern  made  a  shining  circle  in  the 
midst  of  a  surrounding  blackness,  and  where  the 
light  fell  the  scattered  autumn  leaves  sent  out  gold 
and  scarlet  flashes  that  came  and  went  as  quickly  as 
a  flame.  Once  an  owl  flew  across  his  path,  and 
startled  by  the  lantern,  blindly  fluttered  off  again. 
Somewhere  in  the  distance  he  heard  the  short  bark 
of  a  fox ;  then  it  died  away,  and  there  was  no  sound 
except  the  ceaseless  rustle  of  the  trees. 

By  the  time  he  came  out  of  the  wood  upon  the 
open  road,  his  high  spirits  had  gone  suddenly  down, 
and  the  visions  of  an  hour  ago  showed  stale  and 
lifeless  to  his  clouded  eyes.  After  a  day's  ride  and 
a  poor  dinner,  the  ten-mile  walk  had  left  him  with 
aching  limbs,  and  a  growing  conviction  that  despite 
his  former  aspirations,  he  was  fast  going  to  the 


The  Road  at  Midnight  225 

devil  along  the  tavern  road.  When  at  last  he  swung 
open  the  whitewashed  gate  before  the  inn,  and  threw 
the  light  of  his  lantern  on  the  great  oaks  in  the  yard, 
the  relief  he  felt  was  hardly  brighter  than  despair, 
and  it  made  very  little  difference,  he  grimly  told 
himself,  whether  he  put  up  for  the  night  or  kept 
the  road  forever.  With  a  clatter  he  went  into  the 
little  wooden  porch  and  knocked  upon  the  door. 

He  was  still  knocking  when  a  window  was  raised 
suddenly  above  him,  and  a  man's  voice  called  out, 
"  if  he  wanted  a  place  for  night-hawks  to  go  on  to 
hell."  Then,  being  evidently  a  garrulous  body,  the 
speaker  leaned  comfortably  upon  the  sill,  and  sent 
down  a  string  of  remarks,  which  Dan  promptly 
shortened  with  an  oath. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Jack  Hicks,"  he  cried, 
angrily,  "  and  come  down  and  open  this  door  before 
I  break  it  in.  I've  walked  ten  miles  to-night  and 
I  can't  stand  here  till  morning.  How  long  has  it 
been  since  you  had  a  guest  ?  " 

"  There  was  six  of  'em  changin'  stages  this 
mornin',"  drawled  Jack,  in  reply,  still  hanging 
from  the  sill.  "  I  gave  'em  a  dinner  of  fried  chicken 
and  battercakes,  and  two  of  'em  being  Yankees 
hadn't  never  tasted  it  befo'  —  and  a  month  ago  one 
dropped  in  to  spend  the  night  —  " 

He  broke  off  hastily,  for  his  wife  had  joined  him 
at  the  window,  and  as  Dan  looked  up  with  the  flash 
of  the  lantern  in  his  face,  she  gave  a  cry  and  called 
his  name. 

"  Put  on  your  clothes  and  go  down,  you  fool," 
she  said,  "  it's  Mr.  Dan  —  don't  you  see  it's  Mr.  Dan, 
and  he's  as  white  as  yo'  nightshirt.     Go  down,  I 


226  The  Battle-Ground 

tell  you,  —  go  down  and  let  him  in."  There  was  a 
skurrying  in  the  room  and  on  the  staircase,  and  a 
moment  later  the  door  was  flung  open  and  a  lamp 
flashed  in  the  darkness. 

"  Walk  in,  suh,  walk  right  in,"  said  Jack  Hicks, 
hospitably,  "  day  or  night  you're  welcome  —  as  wel- 
come as  the  Major  himself."  He  drew  back  and 
stood  with  the  lamplight  full  upon  him  —  a  loose, 
ill-proportioned  figure,  with  a  flabby  face  and  pale 
blue  eyes  set  under  swollen  lids. 

"  I  want  something  to  eat,  Jack,"  returned  Dan, 
as  he  entered  and  put  down  his  lantern,  "  and  a 
place  to  sleep  —  in  fact  I  want  anything  you  have  to 
offer." 

Then,  as  Mrs.  Hicks  appeared  upon  the  stair,  he 
greeted  her,  despite  his  weariness,  with  something 
of  his  old  jesting  manner.  "  I  am  begging  a  sup- 
per," he  remarked  affably,  as  he  shook  her  hand, 
"  and  I  may  as  well  confess,  by  the  way,  that  I  am 
positively  starving." 

The  woman  beamed  upon  him,  as  women  always 
did,  and  while  she  led  the  way  into  the  little  din- 
ing room,  and  set  out  the  cold  meat  and  bread  upon 
the  oil-cloth  covering  of  the  table,  she  asked  him 
eager  questions  about  the  Major  and  Mrs.  Lightfoot, 
which  he  aroused  himself  to  parry  with  a  tired 
laugh.  She  was  tall  and  thin,  with  a  wrinkled  brown 
face,  and  a  row  of  curl  papers  about  her  forehead. 
Her  faded  calico  wrapper  hung  loosely  over  her 
nightgown,  and  he  saw  her  bare  feet  through  the 
cracks  in  her  worn-out  leather  slippers. 

"  The  poor  young  gentleman  is  all  but  dead," 
she  said  at  last.    "  You  give  him  his  supper,  Jack, 


The  Road  at  Midnight  227 

and  I'll  go  right  up  to  fix  his  room.  To  think  of  his 
walkin'  ten  miles  in  the  pitch  blackness  —  the  poor 
young  gentleman." 

She  went  out,  her  run  down  slippers  flapping  on 
the  stair,  and  Dan,  as  he  ate  his  ham  and  bread,  lis- 
tened impatiently  to  the  drawling  voice  of  Jack 
Hicks,  who  discussed  the  condition  of  the  country 
while  he  drew  apple  cider  from  a  keg  into  a  white 
china  pitcher.  As  he  talked,  his  fat  face  shone  with 
a  drowsy  good-humour,  and  his  puffed  lids  winked 
sleepily  over  his  expressionless  blue  eyes.  He 
moved  heavily  as  if  his  limbs  were  forever  coming 
in  the  way  of  his  intentions. 

"  Yes,  suh,  I  never  was  one  of  them  folks  as  ain't 
satisfied  unless  they're  always  a-fussin',"  he  re- 
marked, as  he  placed  the  pitcher  upon  the  table. 
"  Thar's  a  sight  of  them  kind  in  these  here  parts, 
but  I  ain't  one  of  'em.  Lord,  Lord,  I  tell  'em,  befo' 
you  git  ready  to  jump  out  of  the  fry  in'  pan,  you'd 
better  make  mighty  sure  you  ain't  fixin'  to  land 
yo'self  in  the  fire.  That's  what  I  always  had  agin 
these  here  abolitionists  as  used  to  come  pokin'  round 
here  —  they  ain't  never  learned  to  set  down  an' 
cross  thar  hands,  an'  leave  the  Lord  to  mind  his 
own  business.  Bless  my  soul,  I  reckon  they'd  have 
wanted  to  have  a  hand  in  that  little  fuss  of  Lucifer's 
if  they'd  been  alive  —  that's  what  I  tell  'em,  suh. 
An'  now  thar's  all  this  talk  about  the  freein'  of  the 
niggers  —  free  ?  What  arev  they  goin'  to  do  with 
'em  after  they're  done  set  'em  free?  Ain't  they 
the  sons  of  Ham  ?  I  ask  'em ;  an'  warn't  they  made 
to  be  servants  of  servants  like  the  Bible  says  ?  It's  a 
bold  man  that  goes  plum  agin  the  Bible,  and  flies 


228  The  Battle-Ground 

smack  into  the  face  of  God  Almighty  —  it's  a  bold 
man,  an'  he  ain't  me,  suh.  What  I  say  is,  if  the  Lord 
can  stand  it,  I  reckon  the  rest  of  the  country  —  " 

He  paused  to  draw  breath,  and  Dan  laid  down 
his  knife  and  fork  and  pushed  back  his  chair.  "  Be- 
fore you  begin  again,  Jack,"  he  said  coolly,  "  will 
you  spare  enough  wind  to  carry  me  upstairs  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  tell  'em,"  pursued  Jack  amiably, 
as  he  lighted  a  candle  and  led  the  way  into  the  hall. 
"  They  used  to  come  down  here  every  once  in  a 
while  an'  try  to  draw  me  out ;  and  one  of  'em  'most 
got  a  coat  of  tar  an'  feathers  for  meddlin'  with  my 
man  Lacy ;  but  if  the  Lord  —  here  we  are,  here  we 
are." 

He  stopped  upon  the  landing  and  opened  the  door 
of  a  long  room,  in  which  Mrs.  Hicks  was  putting 
the  last  touches  to  the  bed.  She  stopped  as  Dan 
came  in,  and  by  the  pale  flicker  of  a  tallow  candle 
stood  looking  at  him  from  the  threshold.  "If  you'll 
jest  knock  on  the  floor  when  you  wake  up,  I'll  know 
when  to  send  yo'  hot  water,"  she  said,  "  and  if 
thar's  anything  else  you  want,  you  can  jest  knock 
agin." 

With  a  smile  he  thanked  her  and  promised  to 
remember;  and  then  as  she  went  out  into  the  hall, 
he  bolted  the  door,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair 
beside  the  window.  Sleep  had  quite  deserted  him, 
and  the  dawn  was  on  the  mountains  when  at  last 
he  lay  down  and  closed  his  eyes. 


XI 


AT    MERRY   OAKS    TAVERN 

Upon  awaking  his  first  thought  was  that  he  had 
got  "  into  a  deucedly  uncomfortable  fix,"  and  when 
he  stretched  out  his  hand  from  the  bedside  the  need 
of  fresh  clothes  appeared  less  easy  to  be  borne  than 
the  more  abstract  wreck  of  his  career.  For  the  first 
time  he  clearly  grasped  some  outline  of  his  future 
< —  a  future  in  which  a  change  of  linen  would  become 
a  luxury ;  and  it  was  with  smarting  eyes  and  a  ner- 
vous tightening  of  the  throat  that  he  glanced  about 
the  long  room,  with  its  whitewashed  walls,  and  told 
himself  that  he  had  come  early  to  the  end  of  his  am- 
bition. In  the  ill-regulated  tenor'  of  his  thoughts 
but  a  hair's  breadth  divided  assurance  from  despair. 
Last  night  the  vaguest  hope  had  seemed  to  be  a 
certainty ;  to-day  his  fat  acres  and  the  sturdy  slaves 
upon  them  had  vanished  like  a  dream,  and  the  build- 
ing of  his  fortunes  had  become  suddenly  a  very 
different  matter  from  the  rearing  of  airy  castles 
along  the  road. 

.  As  he  lay  there,  with  his  strong  white  hands  folded 
upon  the  quilt,  his  eyes  went  beyond  the  little  lattice 
at  the  window,  and  rested  upon  the  dark  gray  chain 
of  mountains  over  which  the  white  clouds  sailed 
like  birds.  Somewhere  nearer  those  mountains  he 
knew  that  Chericoke  was  standing  under  the  clouded 

229 


230  The  Battle-Ground 

sky,  with  the  half-bared  elms  knocking  night  and 
day  upon  the  windows.  He  could  see  the  open 
doors,  through  which  the  wind  blew  steadily,  and 
the  crooked  stair  down  which  his  mother  had  come 
in  her  careless  girlhood. 

It  seemed  to  him,  lying  there,  that  in  this  one  hour 
he  had  drawn  closer  into  sympathy  with  his  mother, 
and  when  he  looked  up  from  his  pillow,  he  half  ex- 
pected to  see  her  merry  eyes  bending  over  him,  and 
to  feel  her  thin  and  trembling  hand  upon  his  brow. 
His  old  worship  of  her  awoke  to  life,  and  he  suf- 
fered over  again  the  moment  in  his  childhood  when 
he  had  called  her  and  she  had  not  answered,  and 
they  had  pushed  him  from  the  room  and  told  him 
she  was  dead.  He  remembered  the  clear  white  of 
her  face,  with  the  violet  shadows  in  the  hollows; 
and  he  remembered  the  baby  lying  as  if  asleep  upon 
her  bosom.  For  a  moment  he  felt  that  he  had  never 
groAvn  older  since  that  day  —  that  he  was  still  a 
child  grieving  for  her  loss  —  while  all  the  time  she 
was  not  dead,  but  stood  beside  him  and  smiled  down 
upon  his  pillow.  Poor  mother,  with  the  merry  eyes 
and  the  bitter  mouth. 

Then  as  he  looked  the  face  grew  younger,  though 
the  smile  did  not  change,  and  he  saw  that  it  was 
Betty,  after  all  —  Betty  with  the  tenderness  in  her 
eyes  and  the  motherly  yearning  in  her  outstretched 
arms.  The  two  women  he  loved  were  forever 
blended  in  his  thoughts^  and  he  dimly  realized  that 
whatever  the  future  made  of  him,  he  should  be 
moulded  less  by  events  than  by  the  hands  of  these 
two  women.  Events  might  subdue,  but  love  alone 
could  create  the  spirit  that  gave  him  life. 


At   Merry  Oaks  Tavern  231 

There  was  a  tap  at  his  door,  and  when  he  arose 
and  opened  it,  Mrs.  Hicks  handed  in  a  pitcher  of 
hot  water  and  inquired  "  if  he  had  recollected  to 
knock  upon  the  floor  ?  " 

He  set  the  water  upon  the  table,  and  after  he  had 
dressed  brushed  hopelessly,  with  a  trembling  hand, 
at  the  dust  upon  his  clothes.  Then  he  went  to  the 
window  and  stood  gloomily  looking  down  among 
the  great  oak  trees  to  the  strip  of  yard  where  a  pig 
was  rooting  in  the  acorns. 

A  small  porch  ran  across  the  entrance  to  the  inn, 
and  Jack  Hicks  was  already  seated  on  it,  with  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  and  his  feet  upon  the  railing.  His 
drowsy  gaze  was  turned  upon  the  woodpile  hard  by, 
where  an  old  negro  slave  was  chopping  aimlessly 
into  a  new  pine  log,  and  a  black  urchin  gathering 
chips  into  a  big  split  basket.  At  a  little  distance  the 
Hopeville  stage  was  drawn  out  under  the  trees,  the 
empty  shafts  lying  upon  the  ground,  and  on  the  box 
a  red  and  black  rooster  stood  crowing.  Overhead 
there  was  a  dull  gray  sky,  and  the  scene,  in  all  its 
ugliness,  showed  stripped  of  the  redeeming  grace  of 
lights  and  shadows. 

Jack  Hicks,  smoking  on  his  porch,  presented  a 
picture  of  bodily  comfort  and  philosophic  ease  of 
mind.  He  was  owner  of  some  rich  acres,  and  his 
possessions,  it  was  said,  might  have  been  readily 
doubled  had  he  chosen  to  barter  for  them  the  peace 
of  perfect  inactivity.  To  do  him  justice  the  idea 
had  never  occurred  to  him  in  the  light  of  a  tempta- 
tion, and  when  a  neighbour  had  once  remarked  in 
his  hearing  that  he  "  reckoned  Jack  would  rather 
lose  a  dollar  than  walk  a  mile  to  fetch  it,"  he  had 


232  The  Battle-Ground 

answered  blandly,  and  without  embarrassment,  that 
"  a  mile  was  a  goodish  stretch  on  a  sandy  road." 
So  he  sat  and  dozed  beneath  his  sturdy  oaks,  while 
his  wife  went  ragged  at  the  heels  and  his  swarm  of 
tow-headed  children  rolled  contentedly  with  the  pigs 
among  the  acorns. 

Dan  was  still  looking  moodily  down  into  the  yard, 
when  he  heard  a  gentle  pressure  upon  the  handle  of 
his  door,  and  as  he  turned,  it  opened  quickly  and 
Big  Abel,  bearing  a  large  white  bundle  upon  his 
shoulders,  staggered  into  the  room. 

"  Ef'n  you'd  des  let  me  knowed  hit,  I  could  er 
brung  a  bigger  load,"  he  remarked  sternly. 

While  he  drew  breath  Dan  stared  at  him  with 
the  blankness  of  surprise.  "  Where  did  you  come 
from,  Big  Abel  ?  "  he  questioned  at  last,  speaking  in 
a  whisper. 

Big  Abel  was  busily  untying  the  sheet  he  had 
brought,  and  spreading  out  the  contents  upon  the 
bed,  and  he  did  not  pause  as  he  sullenly  answered : — 

"  Ole  Marster's." 

"  Who  sent  you  ?  " 

Big  Abel  snorted.  "  Who  gwine  sen'  me  ?  "  he 
demanded  in  his  turn. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  said  Dan,  and  after  a  moment, 
"  how  did  you  get  away,  man  ?  " 

"  Lawd,  Lawd,"  returned  Big  Abel,  "  I  waV 
bo'n  yestiddy  nur  de  day  befo'.  Terreckly  I  seed 
you  a-cuttin'  up  de  drive,  I  knowed  dar  wuz  mo'  den 
wuz  in  de  tail  er  de  eye,  en  w'en  you  des  lit  right 
out  agin  en  bang  de  do'  behint  you  fitten  ter  bus' 
hit,  den  I  begin  ter  steddy  'bout  de  close  in  de  big 
wa'drobe.    I -got  out  one  er  ole  Miss's  sheets  w'en 


At  Merry  Oaks  Tavern  233 

she  vva'n'  lookin,  en  I  tie  up  all  de  summer  close  de 
bes'  I  kin  —  caze  dat  ar  do'  bang  hit  ain'  soun'  like 
you  gwine  be  back  fo'  de  summer  right  plum  hyer. 
I'se  done  heah  a  do'  bang  befo'  now,  en  dars  mo'  in 
it  den  des  de  shettin'  ter  stay  shet." 

"  So  you  ran  away  ? "  said  Dan,  with  a  long 
whistle. 

"  Ain't  you  done  run  away  ?  " 

"I  —  oh,  I  was  turned  out,"  answered  the  young 
man,  with  his  eyes  on  the  negro.  "  But  —  bless  my 
soul,  Big  Abel,  why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

Big  Abel  muttered  something  beneath  his  breath, 
and  went  on  laying  out  the  things. 

"  How  you  gwine  git  dese  yer  close  ef  I  ain'  tote 
'em  'long  de  road  ?  "  he  asked  presently.  "  How 
you  gwine  git  dis  yer  close  bresh  ef  I  ain'  brung  hit 
ter  you?  Whar  de  close  you  got?  Whar  de  close 
bresh?" 

"  You're  a  fool,  Big  Abel,"  retorted  Dan.  "  Go 
back  where  you  belong  and  don't  hang  about  me  any 
more.  I'm  a  beggar,  I  tell  you,  and  I'm  likely  to  be 
a  beggar  at  the  judgment  day." 

"  Whar  de  close  bresh  ? "  repeated  Big  Abel, 
scornfully. 

"  What  would  Saphiry  say,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 
went  on  Dan.  "  It  isn't  fair  to  Saphiry  to  run  off 
this  way." 

"  Don'  you  bodder  'bout  Saphiry,"  responded  Big 
Abel.  "  I'se  done  loss  my  tase  fur  Saphiry,  young 
Marster." 

"  I  tell  you  you're  a  fool,"  snapped  out  Dan, 
sharply. 

"  De  Lawd  he  knows,"  piously  rejoined  Big  Abel, 


«34  The  Battle-Ground 

and  he  added :  "  Dar  ain'  no  use  a-rumpasin'  case 
hyer  I  is  en  hyer  I'se  gwine  ter  stay.  Whar  you 
run,  dar  I'se  gwine  ter  run  right  atter,  so  'tain'  no 
use  a-rumpasin'.  Hit's  a  pity  dese  yer  ain'  nuttin' 
but  summer  close." 

Dan  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  silence,  then  he 
put  out  his  hand  and  slapped  him  upon  the  shoulder. 

"  You're  a  fool  —  God  bless  you,"  he  said. 

"  Go  'way  f'om  yer,  young  Marster,"  responded 
the  negro,  in  a  high  good-humour.  "  Dar's  a  speck 
er  dut  right  on  yo'  shut." 

"  Then  give  me  another,"  cried  Dan,  gayly,  and 
threw  off  his  coat. 

When  he  went  down  stairs,  carefully  brushed,  a 
half-hour  afterward,  the  world  had  grown  suddenly 
to  wear  a  more  cheerful  aspect.  He  greeted  Mrs. 
Hicks  with  his  careless  good-humour,  and  spoke 
pleasantly  to  the  dirty  white-haired  children  that 
streamed  through  the  dining  room. 

"  Yes,  I'll  take  my  breakfast  now,  if  you  please," 
he  said  as  he  sat  down  at  one  end  of  the  long,  oil- 
cloth-covered table.  Mrs.  Hicks  brought  him  his 
coffee  and  cakes,  and  then  stood,  with  her  hands 
upon  a  chair  back,  and  watched  him  with  a  frank 
delight  in  his  well-dressed  comely  figure. 

"  You  do  favour  the  Major,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  sud- 
denly remarked. 

He  started  impatiently.  "  Oh,  the  Lightfoots  are 
all  alike,  you  know,"  he  responded.  "  We  are  fond 
of  saying  that  a  strain  of  Lightfoot  blood  is  good 
for  two  centuries  of  intermixing."  Then,  as  he 
looked  up  at  her  faded  wrapper  and  twisted  curl 
papers,  he  flinched  and  turned  away  as  if  her  ugli- 


At  Merry   Oaks  Tavern  235 

ness  afflicted  his  eyes.  "  Do  not  let  me  keep  you/' 
he  added  hastily. 

But  the  woman  stooped  to  shake  a  child  that  was 
tugging  at  her  dress,  and  talked  on  in  her  drawling 
voice,  while  a  greedy  interest  gave  life  to  her  worn 
and  sallow  face.  "  How  long  do  you  think  of 
stayin'  ?  "  she  asked  curiously,  "  and  do  you  often 
take  a  notion  to  walk  so  fur  in  the  dead  of  night? 
Why,  I  declar,  when  I  looked  out  an'  saw  you  I 
couldn't  believe  my  eyes.  That's  not  Mr.  Dan,  I 
said,  you  won't  catch  Mr.  Dan  out  in  the  pitch  dark- 
ness with  a  lantern  and  ten  miles  from  home." 

"  I  really  do  not  want  to  keep  you,"  he  broke 
in  shortly,  all  the  good-humour  gone  from  his 
voice. 

"  Thar  ain't  nothin'  to  do  right  now,"  she  an- 
swered with  a  searching  look  into  his  face.  "  I  was 
jest  waitin'  to  bring  you  some  mo'  cakes."  She 
went  out  and  came  in  presently  with  a  fresh  plateful. 
"  I  remember  jest  as  well  the  first  time  you  ever 
took  breakfast  here,"  she  said.  "  You  wa'n't  more'n 
twelve,  I  don't  reckon,  an'  the  Major  brought  you 
by  in  the  coach,  with  Big  Abel  driving.  The  Major 
didn't  like  the  molasses  we  gave  him,  and  he  pushed 
the  pitcher  away  and  said  it  wasn't  fit  for  pigs; 
and  then  you  looked  about  real  peart  and  spoke  up, 
'  It's  good  molasses,  grandpa,  I  like  it.'  Sakes  alive, 
it  seems  jest  like  yestiddy.  I  don't  reckon  the 
Major  is  comin'  by  to-day,  is  he?  " 

He  pushed  his  plate  away  and  rose  hurriedly, 
then,  without  replying,  he  brushed  past  her,  and 
went  out  upon  the  porch. 

There  he  found  Jack  Hicks,  and  forced  himself 


i$6  The  Battle-Ground 

squarely  into  a  discussion  of  his  altered  fortunes. 
'*  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Jack,"  he  said,  with  a  touch 
of  arrogance,  "  that  I'm  turned  out  upon  the  world, 
at  last,  and  I've  got  to  make  a  living.  I've  left 
Chericoke  for  good,  and  as  I've  got  to  stay  here 
until  I  find  a  place  to  go,  there's  no  use  making  a 
secret  of  it." 

The  pipe  dropped  from  Jack's  mouth,  and  he 
stared  back  in  astonishment. 

"  Bless  my  soul  and  body !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Is 
the  old  gentleman  crazy  or  is  you  ? " 

"  You  forget  yourself,"  sharply  retorted  Dan. 

"  Well,  well,"  pursued  Jack,  good-naturedly,  as 
he  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and  slowly  re- 
filled it.  "  If  you  hadn't  have  told  me,  I  wouldn't 
have  believed  you  —  well,  well."  He  put  his  pipe 
into  his  mouth  and  hung  on  it  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  took  it  out  and  spoke  thoughtfully.  "  I  reckon 
I've  known  you  from  a  child,  haven't  I,  Mr.  Dan  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  That's  so,  Jack,"  responded  the  young  man, 
"  and  if  you  can  recommend  me,  I  want  you  to  help 
me  to  a  job  for  a  week  or  two  —  then  I'm  off  to 
town." 

"  I've  known  you  from  a  child  year  in  an'  year 
out,"  went  on  Jack,  blandly  disregarding  the  inter- 
ruption. "  From  the  time  you  was  sech  a  pleasant- 
spoken  little  boy  that  it  did  me  good  to  bow  to  you 
when  you  rode  by  with  the  Major.  '  Thar's  not 
another  like  him  in  the  country,'  I  said  to  Bill  Bates, 
an'  he  said  to  me,  '  Thar's  not  a  man  between  here 
an'  Leicesterburg  as  ain't  ready  to  say  the  same.' 
Then  time  went  on  an'  you  got  bigger,  an'  the  year 


At  Merry  Oaks  Tavern  237 

came  when  the  crops  failed  an'  Sairy  got  sick,  an' 
I  took  a  mortgage  on  this  here  house  —  an'  what 
should  happen  but  that  you  stepped  right  up  an' 
paid  it  out  of  yo'  own  pocket.  And  you  kept  it  from 
the  Major.  Lord,  Lord,  to  think  the  Major  never 
knew  which  way  the  money  went." 

"  We  won't  speak  of  that,"  said  Dan,  throwing 
back  his  head.  The  thought  that  the  innkeeper 
might  be  going  to  offer  him  the  money  stung  him 
into  anger. 

But  Jack  knew  his  man,  and  he  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  throwing  a  handful  of  dust  into 
his  face.  "  Jest  as  you  like,  suh,  jest  as  you  like," 
he  returned  easily,  and  went  on  smoking. 

Dan  sat  down  in  a  chair  upon  the  porch,  and  tak- 
ing out  his  knife  began  idly  whittling  at  the  end  of 
a  stick.  A  small  boy,  in  blue  jean  breeches,  watched 
him  eagerly  from  the  steps,  and  he  spoke  to  him 
pleasantly  while  he  cut  into  the  wood. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  horse's  head  on  a  cane, 
sonny?" 

The  child  sucked  his  dirty  thumb  and  edged 
nearer. 

"  Naw,  suh,  but  I've  seen  a  dawg's,"  he  answered, 
drawing  out  his  thumb  like  a  stopper  and  sticking  it 
in  again. 

"  Well,  you  watch  this  and  you'll  see  a  horse's. 
There,  now  don't  take  your  eyes  away." 

He  whittled  silently  for  a  time,  then  as  he  looked 
up  his  glance  fell  on  the  stagecoach  in  the  yard,  and 
he  turned  from  it  to  Jack  Hicks. 

"  There's  one  thing  on  earth  I  know  about,  Jack," 
he  said,  "  and  that's  a  horse." 

Fiction,  Vol.    15 — 11 


238  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Not  a  better  jedge  in  the  county,  suh,"  was 
Jack's  response. 

As  Dan  whittled  a  flush  rose  to  his  face.  "  Does 
Tom  Hyden  still  drive  the  Hopeville  stage  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Well,  you  see  it's  this  way,"  answered  Jack, 
weighing  his  words.  "  Tom  he's  a  first-rate  hand  at 
horses,  but  he  drinks  like  a  fish,  and  last  week  he 
married  a  wife  who  owns  a  house  an'  farm  up  the 
road.  So  long  as  he  had  to  earn  his  own  livin'  he 
kept  sober  long  enough  to  run  the  stage,  but  since 
he's  gone  and  married,  he  says  thar's  no  call  fur 
him  to  keep  a  level  head  —  so  he  don't  keep  it.  Yes, 
that's  about  how  'tis,  suh." 

Dan  finished  the  stick  and  handed  it  to  the  child. 
"  I  tell  you  what,  Jack,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  I  want 
Tom  Hyden's  place,  and  I'm  going  to  drive  that 
stage  over  to  Hopeville  this  afternoon.  Phil  Banks 
runs  it,  doesn't  he?  —  well,  I  know  him."  He  rose 
and  stood  humorously  looking  out  upon  the  coach. 
"  There's  no  time  like  the  present,"  he  added,  "  so 
I  begin  work  to-day." 

Jack  Hicks  silently  stared  up  at  him  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  then  he  coughed  and  exclaimed  hoarsely :  — 

"  The  jedgment  ain't  fur  off,"  but  Dan  laughed 
the  prophecy  aside  and  went  upstairs  to  write  to 
Betty. 

"  I've  got  a  job,  Big  Abel,"  he  began,  going  into 
his  room,  where  the  negro  was  pressing  a  pair  of 
trousers  with  a  flatiron,  "  and  what's  more  it  will 
keep  me  till  I  get  another." 

Big  Abel  gloomily  shook  his  head.  "  We  all  'ud 
des  better  go  'long  home  ter  Ole  Miss,"  he  returned, 


At  Merry  Oaks  Tavern  239 

for  he  was  in  no  mood  for  compromises.  "  Caze  I 
am'  use  ter  de  po'  w'ite  trash  en  dey  ain'  use  ter 
me. 

"  Go  if  you  want  to,"  retorted  Dan,  sternly,  "  but 
you  go  alone/'  and  the  negro,  protesting  under  his 
breath,  laid  the  clothes  away  and  went  down  to  his 
breakfast. 

Dan  sat  down  by  the  window  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Betty  which  he  never  sent.  When  he  thought  of 
her  now  it  was  as  if  half  the  world  instead  of  ten 
miles  lay  between  them;  and  quickly  as  he  would 
have  resented  the  hint  of  it  from  Jack  Hicks,  to 
himself  he  admitted  that  he  was  fast  sinking  where 
Betty  could  not  follow  him.  What  would  the  end 
be?  he  asked,  and  disheartened  by  the  question,  tore 
the  paper  into  bits  and  walked  moodily  up  and  down 
the  room.  He  had  lived  so  blithely  until  to-day! 
His  lines  had  fallen  so  smoothly  in  the  pleasant 
places  !  Not  without  a  grim  humour  he  remembered 
now  that  last  year  his  grievance  had  been  that  his 
tailor  failed  to  fit  him.  Last  year  he  had  walked 
the  floor  in  a  rage  because  of  a  wrinkled  coat,  and 
to-day  —  His  road  had  gone  rough  so  suddenly 
that  he  stumbled  like  a  blind  man  when  he  tried  to 
go  over  it  in  his  old  buoyant  manner. 

An  hour  later  he  was  still  pacing  restlessly  to  and 
fro,  when  the  door  softly  opened  and  Mrs.  Hicks 
looked  in  upon  him  with  a  deprecating  smile.  As 
she  lingered  on  the  threshold,  he  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  and  threw  her  a  sharp  glance 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  Is  there  anything  you  wish  ? "  he  questioned 
irritably. 


240  The  Battle-Ground 

Shaking  her  head,  she  came  slowly  toward  him 
and  stood  in  her  soiled  wrapper  and  curl  papers, 
where  the  gray  light  from  the  latticed  window  fell 
full  upon  her. 

"  It  ain't  nothin',"  she  answered  hurriedly. 
"  Nothin'  except  Jack's  been  tellin'  me  you're  in 
trouble,  Mr.  Dan." 

"  Then  he  has  been  telling  you  something  that 
concerns  nobody  but  myself,"  he  replied  coolly,  and 
continued  his  walking. 

There  was  a  nervous  flutter  of  her  wrapper,  and 
she  passed  her  knotted  hand  over  her  face. 

"  You  are  like  yo'  mother,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  said 
with  an  unexpectedness  that  brought  him  to  a  halt. 
"  An'  I  was  the  last  one  to  see  her  the  night  she 
went  away.  She  came  in  here,  po'  thing,  all  shiv- 
erin'  with  the  cold,  an'  she  wouldn't  set  down  but 
kep'  walkin'  up  an'  down,  up  an'  down,  jest  like 
you've  been  doin'  fur  this  last  hour.  Po'  thing! 
Po'  thing !  I  tried  to  make  her  take  a  sip  of  brandy, 
but  she  laughed  an'  said  she  was  quite  warm,  with 
her  teeth  chatterin'  fit  to  break  —  " 

"  You  are  very  good,  Mrs.  Hicks,"  interrupted 
Dan,  in  an  affected  drawl  which  steadied  his  voice, 
"  but  do  you  know,  I'd  really  rather  that  you 
wouldn't." 

Her  sallow  face  twitched  and  she  looked  wistfully 
up  at  him. 

"  It  isn't  that,  Mr.  Dan,"  she  went  on  slowly, 
"  but  I've  had  trouble  myself,  God  knows,  and  when 
I  think  of  that  po'  proud  young  lady,  an'  the  way 
she  went,  I  can't  help  sayin'  what  I  feel  —  it  won't 
stay  back.    So  if  you'll  jest  keep  on  here,  an'  give 


At  Merry  Oaks  Tavern  241 

up  the  stage  drivin'  an'  wait  twil  the  old  gentleman 
comes  round  —  Jack  an'  I'll  do  our  best  fur  you  — 
we'll  do  our  best,  even  if  it  ain't  much." 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  as  he  watched  her  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  new  meaning  passed  into  her 
face  —  something  that  made  her  look  like  Betty  and 
his  mother  —  that  made  all  good  women  who  had 
loved  him  look  alike.  For  the  moment  he  forgot 
her  ugliness,  and  with  the  beginning  of  that  keener 
insight  into  life  which  would  come  to  him  as  he 
touched  with  humanity,  he  saw  only  the  dignity 
with  which  suffering  had  endowed  this  plain  and 
simple  woman.  The  furrows  upon  her  cheeks  were 
no  longer  mere  disfigurements ;  they  raised  her 
from  the  ordinary  level  of  the  ignorant  and  the  ugly 
into  some  bond  of  sympathy  with  his  dead  mother. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hicks,"  he  stammered,  abashed 
and  reddening.  "  Why,  I  shall  take  a  positive  pleas- 
ure in  driving  the  stage,  I  assure  you." 

He  crossed  to  the  mirror  and  carefully  brushed 
a  stray  lock  of  hair  into  place;  then  he  took  up  his 
hat  and  gloves  and  turned  toward  the  door.  "  I 
think  it  is  waiting  for  me  now,"  he  added  lightly; 
K  a  pleasant  evening  to  you." 

But  she  stood  straight  before  him  and  as  he  met 
her  eyes  his  affected  jauntiness  dropped  from  him. 
With  a  boyish  awkwardness  he  took  her  hand  and 
held  it  for  an  instant  as  he  looked  at  her.  "  My 
dear  madam,  you  are  a  good  woman,"  he  said,  and 
went  whistling  down  to  take  the  stage. 

Upon  the  porch  he  found  Jack  Hicks  seated  be- 
tween a  stout  gentleman  and  a  thin  lady,  who  were 
to  be  the  passengers  to  Hopeville;  and  as  Dan  ap- 


242  The  Battle-Ground 

peared  the  innkeeper  started  to  his  feet  and  swung 
open  the  door  of  the  coach  for  the  thin  lady  to  pass 
inside.  "  You'll  find  it  a  pleasant  ride,  mum,"  he 
heartily  assured  her.  "  I've  often  taken  it  myself 
an',  rain  or  shine,  thar's  not  a  prettier  road  in  all 
Virginny,"  then  he  moved  humbly  back  as  Dan, 
carelessly  drawing  on  his  gloves,  came  down  the 
steps.  "  I  hope  we  haven't  hurried  you,  suh,"  he 
stammered. 

"  Not  a  bit  —  not  a  bit,"  returned  Dan,  affably, 
slipping  on  his  overcoat,  which  Big  Abel  had  run  up 
to  hold  for  him. 

"  You  gwine  git  right  soakin'  wet,  Marse  Dan," 
said  Big  Abel,  anxiously. 

"  Oh,  I'll  not  melt,"  responded  Dan,  and  bowing 
to  the  thin  lady  he  stepped  upon  the  wheel  and 
mounted  lightly  to  the  box. 

"  There's  no  end  -  to  this  eternal  drizzle,"  he 
called  down,  as  he  tucked  the  waterproof  robe  about 
him  and  took  up  the  reins. 

Then,  with  a  merry  crack  of  the  whip,  the  stage 
rolled  through  the  gate  and  on  its  way. 

As  it  turned  into  the  road,  a  man  on  horseback 
came  galloping  from  the  direction  of  the  town,  and 
when  he  neared  the  tavern  he  stood  up  in  his  stirrups 
and  shouted  his  piece  of  news. 

"  Thar  was  a  raid  on  Harper's  Ferry  in  the  night," 
he  yelled  hoarsely.  "  The  arsenal  has  fallen,  an' 
they're  armin'  the  damned  niggers." 


XII 

THE    NIGHT   OF    FEAR 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  the  Governor  neared  the 
tavern,  he  was  met  by  a  messenger  with  the  news; 
and  at  once  turning  his  horse's  head,  he  started  back 
to  Uplands.  A  dim  fear,  which  had  been  with  him 
since  boyhood,  seemed  to  take  shape  and  meaning 
with  the  words ;  and  in  a  lightning  flash  of  under- 
standing he  knew  that  he  had  lived  before  through 
the  horror  of  this  moment.  If  his  fathers  had 
sinned,  surely  the  shadow  of  their  wrong  had  passed 
them  by  to  fall  the  heavier  upon  their  sons ;  for  even 
as  his  blood  rang  in  his  ears,  he  saw  a  savage  justice 
in  the  thing  he  feared  —  a  recompense  to  natural 
laws  in  which  the  innocent  should  weigh  as  naught 
against  the  guilty. 

A  fine  rain  was  falling;  and  as  he  went  on,  the 
end  of  a  drizzling  afternoon  dwindled  rapidly  into 
night.  Across  the  meadows  he  saw  the  lamps  in 
scattered  cottages  twinkle  brightly  through  the  dusk 
which  rolled  like  fog  down  from  the  mountains. 
The  road  he  followed  sagged  between  two  gray  hills 
into  a  narrow  valley,  and  regaining  its  balance  upon 
the  farther  side,  stretched  over  a  cattle  pasture  into 
the  thick  cover  of  the  woods. 

As  he  reached  the  summit  of  the  first  hill,  he  saw 
the  Major's  coach  creeping  slowly  up  the  incline. 
243 


244  The  Battle-Ground 

and  heard  the  old  gentleman  scolding  through  the 
window  at  Congo  on  the  box. 

"  My  dear  Major,  home's  the  place  for  you,"  he 
said  as  he  drew  rein.  "  Is  it  possible  that  the  news 
hasn't  reached  you  yet  ?  " 

Remembering  Congo,  he  spoke  cautiously,  but  the 
Major,  in  his  anger,  tossed  discretion  to  the  winds. 

"  Reached  me  ?  —  bless  my  soul !  —  do  you  take 
me  for  a  ground  hog  ?  "  he  cried,  thrusting  his  red 
face  through  the  window.  "  I  met  Tom  Bickels 
four  miles  back,  and  the  horses  haven't  drawn  breath 
since.  But  it's  what  I  expected  all  along  —  I  was 
just  telling  Congo  so  —  it  all  comes  from  the  mis- 
taken tolerance  of  black  Republicans.  Let  me  open 
my  doors  to  them  to-day,  and  they'll  be  tempting 
Congo  to  murder  me  in  my  bed  to-morrow." 

"  Go  'way  f'om  yer,  Ole  Marster,"  protested 
Congo  from  the  box,  flicking  at  the  harness  with  his 
long  whip. 

The  Governor  looked  a  little  anxiously  at  the 
negro,  and  then  shook  his  head  impatiently. 
Though  a  less  exacting  master  than  the  Major,  he 
had  not  the  same  childlike  trust  in  the  slaves  he 
owned. 

"  Shall  you  not  turn  back  ?  "  he  asked,  surprised. 

"  Champe's  there,"  responded  the  Major,  "  so  I 
came  on  for  the  particulars.  A  night  in  town  isn't 
to  my  liking,  but  I  can't  sleep  a  wink  until  I  hear  a 
thing  or  two.     You're  going  out,  eh  ?  " 

"  I'm  riding  home,"  said  the  Governor,  "  it  makes 
me  uneasy  to  be  away  from  Uplands."  He  paused, 
hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  broke  out  suddenly. 
"  Good  God,  Major,  what  does  it  mean?  " 


The  Night  of  Fear  245 

The  Major  shook  his  head  until  his  long  white 
hair  fell  across  his  eyes. 

"  Mean,  sir  ? "  he  thundered  in  a  rage.  "  It 
means,  I  reckon,  that  those  damned  friends  of  yours 
have  a  mind  to  murder  you.  It  means  that  after  all 
your  speech-making  and  your  brotherly  love,  they're 
putting  pitchforks  into  the  hands  of  savages  and 
loosening  them  upon  you.  Oh,  you  needn't  mind 
Congo,  Governor.  Congo's  heart's  as  white  as 
mine." 

"  Dat's  so,  Ole  Marster,"  put  in  Congo,  approv- 
ingly. 

The  Governor  was  trembling  as  he  leaned  down 
from  his  saddle. 

"  We  know  nothing  as  yet,  sir,"  he  began,  "  there 
must  be  some  —  " 

"  Oh,  go  on,  go  on,"  cried  the  Major,  striking 
the  carriage  window.  "  Keep  up  your  speech- 
making  and  your  handshaking  until  your  wife  gets 
murdered  in  her  bed  —  but,  by  God,  sir,  if  Virginia 
doesn't  secede  after  this,  I'll  secede  without  her ! " 

The  coach  moved  on  and  the  Governor,  touching 
his  horse  with  the  whip,  rode  rapidly  down  the 
hill. 

As  he  descended  into  the  valley,  a  thick  mist  rolled 
over  him  and  the  road  lost  itself  in  the  blur  of  the 
surrounding  fields.  Without  slackening  his  pace,  he 
lighted  the  lantern  at  his  saddle-bow  and  turned  up 
the  collar  of  his  coat  about  his  ears.  The  fine  rain 
was  soaking  through  his  clothes,  but  in  the  tension 
of  his  nerves  he  was  oblivious  of  the  weather.  The 
sun  might  have  risen  overhead  and  he  would  not 
have  known  it. 


2^6  The  Battle-Ground 

With  the  coming  down  of  the  darkness  a  slow  fear 
crept,  like  a  physical  chill,  from  head  to  foot.  A 
visible  danger  he  felt  that  he  might  meet  face  to 
face  and  conquer;  but  how  could  he  stand  against 
an  enemy  that  crept  upon  him  unawares  ?  —  against 
the  large  uncertainty,  the  utter  ignorance  of  the 
depth  or  meaning  of  the  outbreak,  the  knowledge  of 
a  hidden  evil  which  might  be  even  now  brooding  at 
his  fireside? 

A  thousand  hideous  possibilities  came  toward  him 
from  out  the  stretch  of  the  wood.  The  light  of  a 
distant  window,  seen  through  the  thinned  edge  of 
the  forest;  the  rustle  of  a  small  animal  in  the  un- 
derbrush; the  drop  of  a  walnut  on  the  wet  leaves 
in  the  road;  the  very  odours  which  rose  from  the 
moist  earth  and  dripped  from  the  leafless  branches 
—  all  sent  him  faster  on  his  way,  with  a  sound 
within  his  ears  that  was  like  the  drumming  of  his 
heart. 

To  quiet  his  nerves,  he  sought  to  bring  before  him 
a  picture  of  the  house  at  Uplands,  of  the  calm  white 
pillars  and  the  lamplight  shining  from  the  door; 
but  even  as  he  looked  the  vision  of  a  slave-war 
rushed  between,  and  the  old  buried  horrors  of  the 
Southampton  uprising  sprang  suddenly  to  life  and 
thronged  about  the  image  of  his  home.  Yesterday 
those  tales  had  been  for  him  as  colourless  as  history, 
as  dry  as  dates ;  to-night,  with  this  new  fear  at  his 
heart,  the  past  became  as  vivid  as  the  present,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  beyond  each  lantern  flash  he 
saw  a  murdered  woman,  or  an  infant  with  its 
brains  dashed  out  at  its  mother's  breast.  This 
was  what  he  feared,  for  this  was  what  the  mes- 


The  Night  of  Fear  247 

sage  meant  to  him :  "  The  slaves  are  armed  and 
rising." 

And  yet  with  it  all,  he  felt  that  there  was  some 
wild  justice  in  the  thing  he  dreaded,  in  the  revolt  of 
an  enslaved  and  ignorant  people,  in  the  pitiable  and 
ineffectual  struggle  for  a  freedom  which  would 
mean,  in  the  beginning,  but  the  power  to  go  forth 
and  kill.  It  was  the  recognition  of  this  deeper 
pathos  that  made  him  hesitate  to  reproach  even 
while  his  thoughts  dwelt  on  the  evils  —  that  would, 
if  the  need  came,  send  him  fearless  and  gentle  to  the 
fight.  For  what  he  saw  was  that  behind  the  new 
wrongs  were  the  old  ones,  and  that  the  sinners  of 
to-day  were,  perhaps,  the  sinned  against  of  yester- 
day. 

When  at  last  he  came  out  into  the  turnpike,  he 
had  not  the  courage  to  look  among  the  trees  for  the 
lights  of  Uplands ;  and  for  a  while  he  rode  with  his 
eyes  following  the  lantern  flash  as  it  ran  onward 
over  the  wet  ground.  The  small  yellow  circle  held 
his  gaze,  and  as  if  fascinated  he  watched  it  moving 
along  the  road,  now  shining  on  the  silver  grains  in 
a  ring  of  sand,  now  glancing  back  from  the  standing 
water  in  a  wheelrut,  and  now  illuminating  a  mossy 
stone  or  a  weed  upon  the  roadside.  It  was  the  one 
bright  thing  in  a  universe  of  blackness,  until,  as  he 
came  suddenly  upon  an  elevation,  the  trees  parted 
and  he  saw  the  windows  of  his  home  glowing  upon 
the  night.  As  he  looked  a  great  peace  fell  over  him, 
and  he  rode  on,  thanking  God. 

When  he  turned  into  the  drive,  his  past  anxiety 
appeared  to  him  to  be  ridiculous,  and  as  he  glanced 
from  the  clear  lights  in  the  great  house  to  the  chain 


248  The  Battle-Ground 

of  lesser  ones  that  stretched  along  the  quarters,  he 
laughed  aloud  in  the  first  exhilaration  of  his  relief. 
This  at  least  was  safe,  God  keep  the  others. 

At  his  first  call  as  he  alighted  before  the  portico, 
Hosea  came  running  for  his  horse,  and  when  he  en- 
tered the  house,  the  cheerful  face  of  Uncle  Shadrach 
looked  out  from  the  dining  room. 

"  Hi !  Marse  Peyton,  I  'lowed  you  wuz  gwine  ter 
spen'  de  night." 

"  Oh,  I  had  to  get  back,  Shadrach,"  replied  the 
Governor.  "  No,  I  won't  take  any  supper  —  you 
needn't  bring  it  —  but  give  me  a  glass  of  Burgundy, 
and  then  go  to  bed.  Where  is  your  mistress,  by 
the  way  ?    Has  she  gone  to  her  room  ?  " 

Uncle  Shadrach  brought  the  bottle  of  Burgundy 
from  the  cellaret  and  placed  it  upon  the  table. 

"  Naw,  suh,  Miss  July  she  set  out  ter  de  quar- 
ters ter  see  atter  Mahaley,"  he  returned.  "  Maha- 
ley  she's  moughty  bad  off,  but  'tain'  no  night  fur 
Miss  July  —  dat's  w'at  I  tell  'er  —  one  er  dese  yer 
spittin'  nights  ain'  no  night  ter  be  out  in." 

"  You're  right,  Shadrach,  you're  right,"  responded 
the  Governor;  and  rising  he  drank  the  wine  standi 
ing.  "  It  isn't  a  fit  night  for  her  to  be  out,  and  I'll 
go  after  her  at  once." 

He  took  up  his  lantern,  and  as  the  old  negro 
opened  the  doors  before  him,  went  out  upon  the 
back  porch  and  down  the  steps. 

From  the  steps  a  narrow  path  ran  by  the  kitchen, 
and  skirting  the  garden-wall,  straggled  through  the 
orchard  and  past  the  house  of  the  overseer  to  the 
big  barn  and  the  cabins  in  the  quarters.  There  was 
a  light  from  the  barn  door,  and  as  he  passed  he  heard 


The  Night  of  Fear  249 

the  sound  of  fiddles  and  the  shuffling-  steps  of 
the  field  hands  in  a  noisy  "  game."  The  words 
they  sang  floated  out  into  the  night,  and  with  the 
squeaking  of  the  fiddles  followed  him  along  his 
path. 

When  he  reached  the  quarters,  he  went  from 
door  to  door,  asking  for  his  wife.  "  Is  this  Maha- 
ley's  cabin  ?  "  he  anxiously  inquired,  "  and  has  your 
mistress  gone  by?" 

In  the  first  room  an  old  negro  woman  sat  on  the 
hearth  wrapping  the  hair  of  her  grandchild,  and 
she  rose  with  a  courtesy  and  a  smile  of  welcome. 
At  the  question  her  face  fell  and  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Dis  yer  ain'  Mahaley,  Marster,"  she  replied. 
"  En  dis  yer  ain'  Mahaley's  cabin  —  caze  Mahaley 
she  ain'  never  set  foot  inside  my  do',  en  I  ain'  gwine 
set  foot  at  her  buryin'."  She  spoke  shrilly,  moved 
by  a  hidden  spite,  but  the  Governor,  without  stop- 
ping, went  on  along  the  line  of  open  doors.  In  one 
a  field  negro  was  roasting  chestnuts  in  the  embers 
of  a  log  fire,  and  while  waiting  he  had  fallen  asleep, 
with  his  head  on  his  breast  and  his  gnarled  hands 
hanging  between  his  knees.  The  firelight  ran  over 
him,  and  as  he  slept  he  stirred  and  muttered  some- 
thing in  his  dreams. 

After  the  first  glance,  his  master  passed  him  by 
and  moved  on  to  the  adjoining  cabin.  "  Does  Ma- 
haley live  here  ?  "  he  asked  again  and  yet  again, 
until,  suddenly,  he  had  no  need  to  put  the  question 
for  from  the  last  room  he  heard  a  low  voice  praying, 
and  upon  looking  in  saw  his  wife  kneeling  with  her 
open  Bible  near  the  bedside. 


250  The  Battle-Ground 

With  his  hat  in  his  hand,  he  stood  within  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway  and  waited  for  the  earnest 
voice  to  fall  silent.  Mahaley  was  dying,  this  he  saw 
when  his  glance  wandered  to  the  shrunken  figure 
beneath  the  patchwork  quilt;  and  at  the  same  in- 
stant he  realized  how  small  a  part  was  his  in  Ma- 
haley's  life  or  death.  He  should  hardly  have  known 
her  had  he  met  her  last  week  in  the  corn  field ;  and 
it  was  by  chance  only  that  he  knew  her  now  when 
she  came  to  die. 

As  he  stood  there  the  burden  of  his  responsibility 
weighed  upon  him  like  old  age.  Here  in  this  scant 
cabin  things  so  serious  as  birth  and  death  showed 
in  a  pathetic  bareness,  stripped  of  all  ceremonial 
trappings,  as  mere  events  in  the  orderly  working 
out  of  natural  laws  —  events  as  seasonable  as  the 
springing  up  and  the  cutting  down  of  the  corn.  In 
these  simple  lives,  so  closely  lived  to  the  ground, 
grave  things  were  sweetened  by  an  unconscious 
humour  which  was  of  the  soil  itself ;  and  even  death 
lost  something  of  its  strangeness  when  it  came  like 
the  grateful  shadow  which  falls  over  a  tired  worker 
in  the  field. 

Mrs.  Ambler  finished  her  prayer  and  rose  from 
her  knees ;  and  as  she  did  so  two  slave  women, 
crouching  in  a  corner  by  the  fire,  broke  into  loud 
moaning,  which  filled  the  little  room  with  an  ani- 
mal and  inarticulate  sound  of  grief. 

"  Come  away,  Julia,"  implored  the  Governor  in  a 
whisper,  resisting  an  impulse  to  close  his  ears 
against  the  cry. 

But  his  wife  shook  her  head  and  spoke  for  a  mo- 
ment with  the  sick  woman  before  she  wrapped  her 


The  Night  of  Fear  251 

shawl  about  her  and  came  out  into  the  open  air. 
Then  she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and,  with  her  hand 
through  her  husband's  arm,  followed  the  path  across 
the  orchard. 

"  So  you  came  home,  after  all,"  she  said.  For  a 
moment  he  made  no  response ;  then,  glancing  about 
him  in  the  darkness,  he  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
fearing  the  sound  of  his  own  words. 

"  Bad  news  brought  me  home,  Julia,"  he  replied, 
"  At  the  tavern  they  told  me  a  message  had  come  to 
Leicesterburg  from  Harper's  Ferry.  An  attack  was 
made  on  the  arsenal  at  midnight,  and,  it  may 
be  but  a  rumour,  my  dear,  it  was  feared  that 
the  slaves  for  miles  around  were  armed  for  an 
uprising." 

His  voice  faltered,  and  he  put  out  his  hand  to 
steady  her,  but  she  looked  up  at  him  and  he  saw 
her  clear  eyes  shining  in  the  gloom. 

"  Oh,  poor  creatures,"  she  murmured  beneath  her 
breath. 

"  Julia,  Julia,"  he  said  softly,  and  lifted  the  lan- 
tern that  he  might  look  into  her  face.  As  the  light 
fell  on  her  he  knew  that  she  was  as  much  a  mystery 
to  him  now  as  she  had  been  twenty  years  ago  on 
her  wedding-day. 

When  they  went  into  the  house,  he  followed  Uncle 
Shadrach  about  and  carefully  barred  the  windows, 
shooting  bolts  which  were  rusted  from  disuse. 
After  the  old  negro  had  gone  out  he  examined  the 
locks  again ;  and  then  going  into  the  hall  took  down 
a  bird  gun  and  an  army  pistol  from  their  places  on 
the  rack.  These  he  loaded  and  laid  near  at  hand 
beside  the  books  upon  his  table. 


2 $2  The  Battle-Ground 

There  was  no  sleep  for  him  that  night,  and  until 
dawn  he  sat,  watchful,  in  his  chair,  or  moved  softly 
from  window  to  window,  looking  for  a  torch  upon 
the  road  and  listening  for  the  sound  of  approaching 
steps. 


xm 

CRABBED   AGE   AND   CALLOW   YOUTH 

With  the  morning  came  trustier  tidings.  The 
slaves  had  taken  no  part  in  the  attack,  the  weapons 
had  dropped  from  the  few  dark  hands  into  which 
they  had  been  given,  and  while  the  shots  that  might 
bring  them  freedom  yet  rang  at  Harper's  Ferry, 
the  negroes  themselves  went  with  cheerful  faces  to 
their  work,  or  looked  up,  singing,  from  their  labours 
in  the  field.  In  the  green  valley,  set  amid  blue 
mountains,  they  moved  quietly  back  and  forth, 
raking  the  wind-drifts  of  fallen  leaves,  or  plough- 
ing the  rich  earth  for  the  autumn  sowing  of  the 
grain. 

As  the  Governor  was  sitting  down  to  breakfast, 
the  Lightfoot  coach  rolled  up  to  the  portico,  and 
the  Major  stepped  down  to  deliver  himself  of  his 
garnered  news.  He  was  in  no  pleasant  humour, 
for  he  had  met  Dan  face  to  face  that  morning  as 
he  passed  the  tavern,  and  as  if  this  were  not  suffi- 
cient to  try  the  patience  of  an  irascible  old  gentle- 
man, a  spasm  of  gout  had  seized  him  as  he  made 
ready  to  descend. 

But  at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Ambler,  he  trod  valiantly 
upon  his  gouty  toe,  and  screwed  his  features  into 
his  blandest  smile  —  an  effort  which  drew  so  heav- 
ily upon  the  source  of  his  good-nature,  that  he  ar- 

253 


254  The  Battle-Ground 

rived  at  Chericoke  an  hour  later  in  what  was 
known  to  Betty  as  "  a  purple  rage." 

"  You  know  I  have  always  warned  you,  Molly," 
was  his  first  offensive  thrust  as  he  entered  Mrs. 
Lightfoot's  chamber,  "  that  your  taste  for  trash 
would  be  the  ruin  of  the  family.  It  has  ruined  your 
daughter,  and  now  it  is  ruining  your  grandson. 
Well,  well,  you  can't  say  that  it  is  for  lack  of 
warning." 

From  the  centre  of  her  tester  bed,  the  old  lady 
calmly  regarded  him.  "  I  told  you  to  bring  back 
the  boy,  Mr.  Lightfoot,"  she  returned.  "  You  surely 
saw  him  in  town,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  saw  him,"  replied  the  Major,  loos- 
ening his  high  black  stock.  "  But  where  do  you 
suppose  I  saw  him,  ma'am?  and  how?  Why,  the 
young  scapegrace  has  actually  gone  and  hired  him- 
self out  as  a  stagedriver  —  a  common  stagedriver. 
And,  bless  my  soul,  he  had  the  audacity  to  tip  his 
hat  to  me  from  the  box  —  from  the  box  with  the 
reins  in  his  hand,  ma'am !  " 

"  What  stage,  Mr.  Lightfoot  ? "  inquired  his 
wife,  with  an  eye  for  particulars. 

"  Oh,  I  wash  my  hands  of  him,"  pursued  the 
Major,  waving  her  question  aside.  "  I  wash  my 
hands  of  him,  and  that's  the  end  of  it.  In  my  day, 
the  young  were  supposed  to  show  some  respect 
for  their  elders,  and  every  calf  wasn't  of  the  opinion 
that  he  could  bellow  like  a  bull  —  but  things  are 
changed  now,  and  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  all.  A 
more  ungrateful  family,  I  am  willing  to  maintain, 
no  man  was  ever  blessed  with  —  which  comes,  I 
reckon,    from  sparing    the    rod    and    spoiling  the 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      255 

child  —  but  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  how  it  is  that  it  is 
always  your  temper  that  gets  inherited." 

The  personal  note  fell  unheeded  upon  his  wife's 
ears. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  came  away 
and  left  the  boy  sitting  on  the  box  of  a  stage- 
coach ?  "  she  demanded  sharply. 

"  Would  you  have  me  claim  a  stagedriver  as  a 
grandson?  "  retorted  the  Major,  "  because  I  may  as 
well  say  now,  ma'am,  that  there  are  some  things  I'll 
not  stoop  to.  Why,  I'd  as  lief  have  an  uncle  who 
was  a  chimney  sweep.  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  turned  uneasily  in  bed.  "  It 
means,  I  suppose,  that  I  shall  have  to  get  up  and  go 
after  him,"  she  remarked,  "  and  you  yourself  heard 
the  doctor  tell  me  not  to  move  out  of  bed  for  a  week. 
It  does  seem  to  me,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  that  you  might 
show  some  consideration  for  my  state  of  health. 
Do  ride  in  this  afternoon,  and  tell  Dan  that  I  say 
he  must  behave  himself  properly." 

But  the  Major  turned  upon  her  the  terrific  counte- 
nance she  had  last  seen  on  Jane's  wedding  day,  and 
she  fell  silent  from  sheer  inability  to  utter  a  protest 
befitting  the  occasion. 

"If  that  stagedriver  enters  my  house,  I  leave  it, 
ma'am,"  thundered  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  stamp 
of  his  gouty  foot.  "  You  may  choose  between  us, 
if  you  like,  —  I  have  never  interfered  with  your 
fancies  —  but,  by  God,  if  you  bring  him  inside  my 
doors  I  —  I  will  horsewhip  him,  madam,"  and  he 
went  limping  out  into  the  hall. 

On  the  stair  he  met  Betty,  who  looked  at  him 
with  pleading  eyes,  but  fled,  affrighted,  before  the 


256  The  Battle-Ground 

colour  of  his  wrath;  and  in  his  library  he  found 
Champe  reading  his  favourite  volume  of  Mr. 
Addison. 

"  I  hope  you  aren't  scratching  up  my  books,  sir," 
he  observed,  eying  the  pencil  in  his  great-nephew's 
hand. 

Champe  looked  at  him  with  his  cool  glance,  and 
rose  leisurely  to  his  feet.  "  Why,  I'd  as  soon  think  of 
scrawling  over  Aunt  Emmeline's  window  pane," 
he  returned  pleasantly,  and  added,  "  I  hope  you  had 
a  successful  trip,  sir." 

"  I  got  a  lukewarm  supper  and  a  cold  breakfast," 
replied  the  Major  irritably,  "  and  I  heard  that  the 
Marines  had  those  Kansas  raiders  entrapped  like 
rats  in  the  arsenal,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  No,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  replied  Champe, 
as  quietly  as  before.  "  I  came  home  to  find  out  about 
Dan,  you  know,  and  I  hoped  you  went  into  town  to 
look  him  up." 

"  Well,  I  didn't,  sir,"  declared  the  Major,  "  and 
as  for  that  scamp  —  I  have  as  much  knowledge  of 
his  whereabouts  as  I  care  for.  —  Do  you  know,  sir," 
he  broke  out  fiercely,  "  that  he  has  taken  to  driving 
a  common  stage  ?  " 

Champe  was  sharpening  his  pencil,  and  he  did 
not  look  up  as  he  answered.  "  Then  the  sooner  he 
leaves  off  the  better,  eh,  sir  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  there's  your  everlasting  wrangling !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Major  with  a  hopeless  gesture.  "  You 
catch  it  from  Molly,  I  reckon,  and  between  you, 
you'll  drive  me  into  dotage  yet.  Always  arguing! 
Never  any  peace.  Why,  I  believe  if  I  were  to  take  it 
into  my  head  to  remark  that  white  is  white,  you 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      257 

would  both  be  setting  out  to  convince  me  that 
it  is  black.  I  tell  you  now,  sir,  that  the  sooner 
you  curb  that  tendency  of  yours,  the  better  it 
will  be." 

"  Aren't  we  rather  straying  from  the  point  ?  "  in- 
terposed Champe  half  angrily. 

"  There  it  is  again,"  gasped  the  Major. 

The  knife  slipped  in  Champe's  hand  and  scratched 
his  finger.  "  Surely  you  don't  intend  to  leave  Dan 
to  knock  about  for  himself  much  longer?"  he  said 
coolly.  "  If  you  do,  sir,  I  don't  mind  saying  that  I 
think  it  is  a  damn  shame." 

"  How  dare  you  use  such  language  in  my  pres- 
ence?" roared  the  old  gentleman,  growing  purple 
to  the  neck.  "  Have  you,  also,  been  fighting  for 
barmaids  and  taking  up  with  gaol-birds  ?  It  is  what 
I  have  to  expect,  I  suppose,  and  I  may  as  well  accus- 
tom my  ears  to  profanity ;  but  damn  you,  sir,  you 
must  learn  some  decency ; "  and  going  into  the  hall 
he  shouted  to  Congo  to  bring  him  a  julep. 

Champe  said  nothing  more;  and  when  the  julep 
appeared  on  a  silver  tray,  he  left  the  room  and 
went  upstairs  to  where  Betty  was  waiting.  "  He's 
awful,  there's  no  use  mincing  words,  he's  simply 
awful,"  he  remarked  in  an  exhausted  voice. 

"  But  what  does  he  say  ?  tell  me,"  questioned 
Betty,  as  she  moved  to  a  little  peaked  window  which 
overlooked  the  lawn. 

"What  doesn't  he  say?"  groaned  Champe  with 
his  eyes  upon  her  as  she  stood  relieved  against  the 
greenish  panes  of  glass. 

"  Do  you  think  I  might  speak  to  him?  "  she  per- 
sisted eagerly. 


258  The  Battle-Ground 

"  My  dear  girl,  do  you  want  to  have  your  head 
bitten  off  for  your  pains  ?  His  temper  is  positively 
tremendous.  By  Jove,  I  didn't  know  he  had  it  in 
him  after  all  these  years;  I  thought  he  had  worn 
it  out  on  dear  Aunt  Molly.  And  Beau,  by  the  way, 
isn't  going  to  be  the  only  one  to  suffer  for  his  dar- 
ing, which  makes  me  wish  that  he  had  chosen  to 
embrace  the  saintly  instead  of  the  heroic  virtues. 
I  confess  that  I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  prefer 
less  of  David  and  more  of  Job." 

"  How  can  you  ? "  remonstrated  Betty.  She 
pressed  her  hands  together  and  looked  wistfully  up 
at  him.  "  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 
she  demanded. 

For  a  moment  his  eyes  dwelt  on  her. 

"  Betty,   Betty,   how   you  care !  "   he  exclaimed. 

"  Care  ?  "  she  laughed  impatiently.  "  Oh,  I  care, 
but  what  good  does  that  do  ?  " 

"Would  you  care  as  much  for  me,  I  wonder?" 
She  smiled  up  at  him  and  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  I  shouldn't,  Champe,"  she  answered 
honestly. 

He  turned  his  gaze  away  from  her,  and  looked 
through  the  dim  old  window  panes  out  upon  the 
clustered  elm  boughs. 

"  Well,  I'll  do  this  much,"  he  said  in  a  cheerful 
voice.  "  I'll  ride  to  the  tavern  this  morning  and  find 
out  how  the  land  lies  there.  I'll  see  Beau,  and  I'll 
do  my  best  for  him,  and  for  you,  Betty."  She  put 
out  her  hand  and  touched  his  arm.  "  Dear 
Champe !  "  she  exclaimed  impulsively. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,"  he  scoffed,  "  but  is  there  any 
message  ?  " 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      259 

"  Tell  him  to  come  back,"  she  answered,  "  to  come 
back  now,  or  when  he  will." 

"  Or  when  he  will,"  he  repeated  smiling,  and 
went  down  to  order  his  horse. 

At  the  tavern  he  found  Jack  Hicks  and  a  neigh- 
bouring farmer  or  two,  seated  upon  the  porch  dis- 
cussing the  raid  upon  Harper's  Ferry.  They  would 
have  drawn  him  into  the  talk,  but  he  asked  at  once 
for  Dan,  and  upon  learning  the  room  in  which  he 
lodged,  ran  up  the  narrow  stair  and  rapped  upon 
the  door.  Then,  without  waiting  for  a  response, 
he  burst  into  the  room  with  outstretched  hand. 
"  Why,  they've  put  you  into  a  tenpin  alley,"  were 
his  words  of  greeting. 

With  a  laugh  Dan  sprang  up  from  his  chair  be- 
side the  window.  "  What  on  earth  are  you  doing 
here,  old  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  just  at  present  I'm  trying  to  pull  you  out 
of  the  hole  you've  stumbled  into.  I  say,  in 
the  name  of  all  that's  rational,  why  did  you  allow 
yourself  to  get  into  such  a  scrape  ? " 

Dan  sat  down  again  and  motioned  to  a  split-bot- 
tomed chair  he  had  used  for  a  footstool. 

"  There's  no  use  going  into  that,"  he  replied 
frowning,  "  I  raised  the  row  and  I'm  ready  to  bear 
the  consequences." 

"  Ah,  that's  the  point,  my  dear  fellow ;  Aunt  Molly 
and  I  have  been  bearing  them  all  the  morning." 

"  Of  course,  I'm  sorry  for  that,  but  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  now  that  things  are  settled  so  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  I've  been  kicked  out  and  I 
wouldn't  go  back  again  if  they  came  for  me  in  a 
golden  chariot." 


260  The  Battle- Ground 

"  I  hardly  think  that's  likely  to  happen,"  was 
Champe's  cheerful  rejoinder.  "  The  old  gentleman 
has  had  his  temper  touched,  as,  I  dare  say,  you're 
aware,  and,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  he  saw  you 
on  the  stagecoach  this  morning.  My  dear  Beau, 
you  ought  to  have  crawled  under  the  box." 

"  Nonsense !  "  protested  Dan,  "  it's  no  concern  of 
his."  He  turned  his  flushed  boyish  face  angrily 
away. 

Champe  looked  at  him  steadily  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes.  "  Well,  I  hope  your  independence  will 
come  buttered,"  he  remarked.  "  I  doubt  if  you  will 
find  the  taste  of  dry  bread  to  your  liking.  By  the 
way,  do  you  intend  to  enter  Jack  Hicks's  house- 
hold?" 

"  For  a  fortnight,  perhaps.  I've  written  to  Judge 
Compton,  and  if  he'll  take  me  into  his  office,  I 
shall  study  law." 

Champe  gave  a  long  whistle.  "  I  should  have 
supposed  that  your  taste  would  be  for  tailoring,"  he 
observed,  "  your  genius  for  the  fashions  is 
immense." 

"  I  hope  to  cultivate  that  also,"  said  Dan,  smil- 
ing, as  he  glanced  at  his  coat. 

"  What  ?   on  bread  and  cheese  and  Blackstone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Blackstone !  I  never  heard  he  wasn't  a 
well-dressed  old  chap." 

"  At  least  you'll  take  half  my  allowance  ?  " 

Dan  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a  cent  —  not  a  copper 
cent." 

"  But  how  will  you  live,  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  somehow,"  he  laughed  carelessly.  "  I'll  livo 
somehow." 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      261 

"  It's  rather  a  shame,  you  know,"  responded 
Champe,  "  but  there's  one  thing-  of  which  I  am  very- 
sure —  the  old  gentleman  will  come  round.  We'll 
make  him  do  it,  Aunt  Molly  and  I  —  and  Betty." 

Dan  started. 

"  Betty  sent  you  a  message,  by  the  way,"  pursued 
Champe,  looking  through  the  window.  "  It  was 
something  about  coming  home;  she  says  you  are 
to  come  home  now  —  or  when  you  will."  He  rose 
and  took  up  his  hat  and  riding-whip. 

"  Or  when  I  will,"  said  Dan,  rising  also.  "  Tell 
her  —  no,  don't  tell  her  anything  —  what's  the 
use?" 

"  She  doesn't  need  telling,"  responded  Champe, 
going  toward  the  door ;  and  he  added  as  they  went 
together  down  the  stair,  "  She  always  understands 
without  words,  somehow." 

Dan  followed  him  into  the  yard,  and  watched 
him,  from  under  the  oaks  beside  the  empty  stage- 
coach, as  he  mounted  and  rode  away. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  remember  my  warning," 
said  Champe,  turning  in  the  saddle,  "  and  don't  in- 
sist upon  eating  dry  bread  if  you're  offered  butter." 

"  And  you  will  look  after  Aunt  Molly  and  Betty  ?  " 
Dan  rejoined.    - 

"  Oh,  I'll  look  after  them,"  replied  the  other 
lightly,  and  rode  off  at  an  amble. 

Dan  looked  after  the  horse  and  rider  until  they 
passed  slowly  out  of  sight;  then,  coming  back  to 
the  porch,  he  sat  down  among  the  farmers,  and 
listened,  abstractedly,  to  the  drawling  voice  of  Jack 
Hicks. 

When  Champe  reached  Chericoke,  he  saw  Betty 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 12 


262  The  Battle-Ground 

looking  for  him  from  Aunt  Emmeline's  window 
seat;  and  as  he  dismounted,  she  ran  out  and  joined 
him  upon  the  steps. 

"  And  you  saw  him  ?  "  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"  It  was  pleasant  to  think  that  you  came  to  meet 
me  for  my  own  sake,"  he  returned ;  and  at  her  im- 
patient gesture,  caught  her  hand  and  looked  into 
her  eyes. 

"I  saw  him,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  and  he  was  in  a 
temper  that  would  have  proved  his  descent  had  he 
been  lost  in  infancy." 

She  eagerly  questioned  him,  and  he  answered 
with  forbearing  amusement.  "Is  that  all?"  she 
asked  at  last,  and  when  he  nodded,  smiling,  she 
went  up  to  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  bedside  and  besought 
her  "  to  make  the  Major  listen  to  reason." 

"  He  never  listened  to  it  in  his  life,  my  child," 
the  old  lady  replied,  "  and  I  think  it  is  hardly  to 
be  expected  of  him  that  he  should  begin  at  his  pres- 
ent age."  Then  she  gathered,  bit  by  bit,  the  news 
that  Champe  had  brought,  and  ended  by  remarking 
that  "  the  ways  of  men  and  boys  were  past  finding 
out." 

"  Do  you  think  the  Major  will  ever  forgive 
him  ?  "  asked  Betty,  hopelessly. 

"  He  never  forgave  poor  Jane,"  answered  Mrs. 
Lightfoot,  her  voice  breaking  at  the  mention  of  her 
daughter.  "  But  whether  he  forgives  him  or  not, 
the  silly  boy  must  be  made  to  come  home;  and  as 
soon  as  I  am  ouc  of  this  bed,  I  must  get  into  the 
coach  and  drive  to  that  God-forsaken  tavern.  After 
ten  years,  nothing  will  content  them,  I  suppose,  but 
that  I  should  jolt  my  bones  to  pieces." 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      263 

Betty  looked  at  her  anxiously.  "  When  will  you 
be  up  ? "  she  inquired,  flushing,  as  the  old  lady's 
sharp  eyes  pierced  her  through. 

"  I  really  think,  my  dear,  that  you  are  less  sen- 
sible than  I  took  you  to  be,"  returned  Mrs.  Light- 
foot.  "  It  was  very  foolish  of  you  to  allow  yourself 
to  take  a  fancy  to  Dan.  You  should  have  insisted 
upon  preferring  Champe,  as  I  cautioned  you  to  do. 
In  entering  into  marriage  it  is  always  well  to  con- 
sider first,  family  connections  and  secondly,  personal 
disposition ;  and  in  both  of  these  particulars  there 
is  no  fault  to  be  found  with  Champe.  His  mother 
was  a  Randolph,  my  child,  which  is  greatly  to  his 
credit.  As  for  Dan,  I  fear  he  will  make  anything 
but  a  safe  husband." 

"  Safe !  "  exclaimed  Betty  indignantly,  "  did  you 
marry  the  Major  because  he  was  '  safe,'  I  wonder?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  accepted  the  rebuke  with  meek- 
ness. 

"  Had  I  done  so,  I  should  certainly  have  proved 
myself  to  be  a  fool,"  she  returned  with  grim  humour, 
"  but  since  you  have  fully  decided  that  you  pre- 
fer to  be  miserable,  I  shall  take  you  with  me  to- 
morrow when  I  go  for  Dan." 

But  on  the  morrow  the  old  lady  did  not  leave 
her  bed,  and  the  doctor,  who  came  with  his  saddle- 
bags from  Leicesterburg,  glanced  her  over  and 
ordered  "  perfect  repose  of  mind  and  body  "  before 
he  drank  his  julep  and  rode  away. 

"  Perfect  repose,  indeed !  "  scoffed  his  patient, 
from  behind  her  curtains,  when  the  visit  was  over. 
"  Why,  the  idiot  might  as  well  have  ordered  me  a 
mustard  plaster.    If  he  thinks  there's  any  '  repose ' 


264  The  Battle-Ground 

in  being  married  to  Mr.  Lightfoot,  I'd  be  very 
glad  to  have  him  try  it  for  a  week." 

Betty  made  no  response,  for  her  throat  was 
strained  and  aching;  but  in  a  moment  Mrs.  Light- 
foot  called  her  to  her  bedside  and  patted  her  upon 
the  arm. 

"  We'll  go  next  week,  child,"  she  said  gently. 
"  When  you  have  been  married  as  long  as  I  have 
been,  you  will  know  that  a  week  the  more  or  the  less 
of  a  man's  society  makes  very  little  difference  in  the 
long  run." 

And  the  next  week  they  went.  On  a  ripe  October 
day,  when  the  earth  was  all  red  and  gold,  the 
coach  was  brought  out  into  the  drive,  and  Mrs. 
Lightfoot  came  down,  leaning  upon  Champe  and 
Betty. 

The  Major  was  reading  his  Horace  in  the  library, 
and  though  he  heard  the  new  pair  of  roans  pawing 
on  the  gravel,  he  gave  no  sign  of  displeasure.  His 
age  had  oppressed  him  in  the  last  few  days,  and 
he  carried  stains,  like  spilled  wine,  on  his  cheeks. 
He  could  not  ease  his  swollen  heart  by  outbursts 
of  anger,  and  the  sensitiveness  of  his  temper 
warned  off  the  sympathy  which  he  was  too  proud 
to  unbend  and  seek.  So  he  sat  and  stared  at  the 
unturned  Latin  page,  and  the  hand  he  raised  to  his 
throat  trembled  slightly  in  the  air. 

Outside,  Betty,  in  her  most  becoming  bonnet, 
with  her  blue  barege  shawl  over  her  soft  white 
gown,  wrapped  Mrs.  Lightfoot  in  woollen  robes,  and 
fluttered  nervously  when  the  old  lady  remembered 
that  she  had  left  her  spectacles  behind. 

"  I  brought  the  empty  case ;  here  it  is,  my  dear," 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      265 

she  said,  offering  it  to  the  girl.  "  Surely  you  don't 
intend  to  take  me  off  without  my  glasses  ?  " 

Mitty  was  sent  upstairs  on  a  search  for  them, 
and  in  her  absence  her  mistress  suddenly  decided 
that  she  needed  an  extra  wrap.  "  The  little  white 
nuby  in  my  top  drawer,  Betty  —  I  felt  a  chill  strik- 
ing the  back  of  my  neck." 

Betty  threw  her  armful  of  robes  into  the  coach, 
and  ran  hurriedly  up  to  the  old  lady's  room,  coming 
down,  in  a  moment,  with  the  spectacles  in  one  hand 
and  the  little  white  shawl  in  the  other. 

"  Now,  we  must  really  start,  Congo,"  she  called, 
as  she  sat  down  beside  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  and  when 
the  coach  rolled  along  the  drive,  she  leaned  out  and 
kissed  her  hand  to  Champe  upon  the  steps. 

"  It  is  a  heavenly  day,"  she  said  with  a  sigh  of 
happiness.  "  Oh,  isn't  it  too  good  to  be  real 
weather  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  did  not  answer,  for  she  was  busily 
examining  the  contents  of  her  black  silk  bag. 

"  Stop  Congo,  Betty,"  she  exclaimed,  after  a  hasty 
search.  "  I  have  forgotten  my  handkerchief ;  I 
sprinkled  it  with  camphor  and  left  it  on  the  bureau. 
Tell  him  to  go  back  at  once." 

"  Take  mine,  take  mine !  "  cried  the  girl,  press- 
ing it  upon  her;  and  then  turning  her  back  upon 
the  old  lady,  she  leaned  from  the  window  and 
looked  over  the  valley  filled  with  sunshine. 

The  whip  cracked,  the  fat  roans  kicked  the  dust, 
and  on  they  went  merrily  down  the  branch  road 
into  the  turnpike;  past  Aunt  Ailsey's  cabin,  past 
the  wild  cherry  tree,  where  the  blue  sky  shone 
through  naked  twigs;    down  the  long  curve,  past 


266  The  Battle-Ground 

the  tuft  of  cedars  —  and  still  the  turnpike  swept 
wide  and  white,  into  the  distance,  dividing  gay 
fields  dotted  with  browsing  cattle.  At  Uplands 
Betty  caught  a  glimpse  of  Aunt  Lydia  between  the 
silver  poplars,  and  called  joyfully  from  the  win- 
dow; but  the  words  were  lost  in  the  rattling  of 
the  wheels ;  and  as  she  lay  back  in  her  corner,  Up- 
lands was  left  blehind,  and  in  a  little  while  they 
passed  into  the  tavern  road  and  went  on  beneath 
the  shade  of  interlacing  branches. 

Underfoot  the  ground  was  russet,  and  through 
the  misty  woods  she  saw  the  leaves  still  falling 
against  a  dim  blue  perspective.  The  sunshine 
struck  in  arrows  across  the  way,  and  far  ahead, 
at  the  end  of  the  long  vista,  there  was  golden 
space. 

With  the  ten  miles  behind  them,  they  came 
to  the  tavern  in  the  early  afternoon,  and,  as  a 
small  tow-headed  boy  swung  open  the  gate,  the 
coach  rolled  into  the  yard  and  drew  up  before  the 
steps. 

Jack  Hicks  started  from  his  seat,  and  throwing 
his  pipe  aside,  came  hurriedly  to  the  wheels,  but 
before  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door,  Betty  opened 
it  and  sprang  lightly  to  the  ground,  her  face  radiant 
in  the  shadow  of  her  bonnet. 

"  Let  me  speak,  child,"  called  Mrs.  Lightfoot 
after  her,  adding,  with  courteous  condescension, 
"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Hicks  ?  Will  you  go  up  at 
once  and  tell  my  grandson  to  pack  his  things  and 
come  straight  down.  As  soon  as  the  horses  are 
rested  we  must  start  back  again." 

With  visible  perturbation  Jack  looked  from  the 


Crabbed  Age  and  Callow  Youth      267 

coach  to  the  tavern  door,  and  stood  awkwardly 
scraping  his  feet  upon  the  road. 

"I  —  I'll  go  up  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life,  mum," 
he  stammered  ;  "  but  I  don't  reckon  thar's  no  use  — 
he  —  he's  gone." 

"  Gone  ?  "  cried  the  aghast  old  lady ;  and  Betty 
rested  her  hand  upon  the  wheel. 

"  Big  Abel,  he's  gone,  too,"  went  on  Jack,  gain- 
ing courage  from  the  accustomed  sound  of  his  own 
drawl.  "Mr.  Dan  tried  his  best  to  git  away  with- 
out him  —  but  Lord,  Lord,  the  sense  that  nigger's 
got.  Why,  his  marster  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
give  his  own  skin  the  slip  —  " 

"  Where  did  they  go  ?  "  sharply  put  in  the  old 
lady.  "  Don't  mumble  your  words,  speak  plainly, 
if  you  please." 

"  He  wouldn't  tell  me,  mum ;  I  axed  him,  but 
he  wouldn't  say.  A  letter  came  last  night,  and  this 
morning  at  sunup  they  were  off  —  Mr.  Dan  in  front, 
and  Big  Abel  behind  with  the  bundle  on  his  shoul- 
der. They  walked  to  Leicestersburg,  that's  all  I 
know,  mum." 

"  Let  me  get  inside,"  said  Betty,  quickly.  Her 
face  had  gone  white,  but  she  thanked  Jack  when  he 
picked  up  the  shawl  she  dropped,  and  went  steadily 
into  the  coach.  "  We  may  as  well  go  back,"  she 
added  with  a  little  laugh. 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  threw  an  anxious  look  into  her 
face. 

"  We  must  consider  the  horses,  my  dear,"  she 
responded.  "  Mr.  Hicks,  will  you  see  that  the  horses 
are  well  fed  and  watered.  Let  them  take  their 
time." 


268  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  the  horses,"  returned  Betty  apol- 
ogetically, and  patiently  sat  down  with  her  arm 
leaning  in  the  window.  There  was  a  smile  on  her 
lips,  and  she  stared  with  bright  eyes  at  the  oak  trees 
and  the  children  playing  among  the  acorns. 


XIV 

THE    HUSH    BEFORE    THE    STORM 

The  autumn  crept  into  winter;  the  winter  went 
by,  short  and  fitful,  and  the  spring-  unfolded  slowly. 
With  the  milder  weather  the  mud  dried  in  the  roads, 
and  the  Major  and  the  Governor  went  daily  into 
Leicesterburg.  The  younger  man  had  carried  his 
oratory  and  his  influence  into  the  larger  cities  of  the 
state,  and  he  had  come  home,  at  the  end  of  a  month 
of  speech-making,  in  a  fervour  of  almost  boyish  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  I  pledge  my  word  for  it,  Julia,"  he  had  declared 
to  his  wife,  "  it  will  take  more  than  a  Republican 
President  to  sever  Virginia  from  the  Union  — 
in  fact,  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  it  will  take 
a  thunderbolt  from  heaven,  or  the  Major  for  a 
despot !  " 

When,  as  the  spring  went  on,  men  came  from  the 
political  turmoil  to  ask  for  his  advice,  he  repeated 
the  words  with  a  conviction  that  was  in  itself  a 
ring  of  emphasis. 

"  We  are  in  the  Union,  gentlemen,  for  better  or 
for  worse  "  —  and  of  all  the  guests  who  drank  his 
Madeira  under  the  pleasant  shade  of  his  maples, 
only  the  Major  found  voice  to  raise  a  protest. 

"  We'll  learn,  sir,  we'll  live  and  learn,"  interposed 
the  old  gentleman. 

269 


270  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Let  us  hope  we  shall  live  easily,"  said  the  doctor, 
lifting  his  glass. 

"  And  learn  wisdom,"  added  the  rector,  with  a 
chuckle. 

Through  the  spring  and  summer  they  rode  leis- 
urely back  and  forth,  bringing  bundles  of  news- 
papers when  they  came,  and  taking  away  with 
them  a  memory  of  the  broad  white  portico  and  the 
mellow  wine. 

The  Major  took  a  spasmodic  part  in  the  discus- 
sions of  peace  or  war,  sitting  sometimes  in  a 
moody  silence,  and  flaring  up,  like  an  exhausted 
candle,  at  the  news  of  an  abolition  outbreak.  In  his 
heart  he  regarded  the  state  of  peace  as  a  mean  and 
beggarly  condition  and  the  sure  resort  of  bloodless 
cowards ;  but  even  a  prospect  of  the  inspiring  dash 
of  war  could  not  elicit  so  much  as  the  semblance  of 
his  old  ardour.  His  smile  flashed  but  seldom  over 
his  harsh  features  —  it  needed  indeed  the  presence 
of  Mrs.  Ambler  or  of  Betty  to  bring  it  forth 
—  and  his  erect  figure  had  given  way  in  the 
chest,  as  if  a  strong  wind  bent  him  forward  when 
he  walked. 

"  He  has  grown  to  be  an  old  man,"  his  neighbours 
said  pityingly ;  and  it  is  true  that  the  weight  of  his 
years  had  fallen  upon  him  in  a  night  —  as  if  he  had 
gone  to  bed  in  a  hale  old  age,  with  the  sap  of  youth 
in  his  veins,  to  awaken  with  bleared  eyes  and  a 
trembling  hand.  Since  the  day  of  his  wife's  return 
from  the  tavern,  when  he  had  peered  from  his  hid- 
ing-place in  his  library  window,  he  had  not  men- 
tioned his  grandson  by  name;  and  yet  the  thought 
of  him  seemed  forever  lying  beneath  his  captious 


The  Hush  before  the  Storm         271 

exclamations.  He  pricked  nervously  at  the  sub- 
ject, made  roundabout  allusions  to  the  base  ingrati- 
tude from  which  he  suffered ;  and  the  desertion  of 
Big  Abel  had  damned  for  him  the  whole  faithful 
race  from  which  the  offender  sprang. 

"  They  are  all  alike,"  he  sweepingly  declared. 
"  There  is  not  a  trustworthy  one  among  them. 
They'll  eat  my  bread  and  steal  my  chickens,  and 
then  run  off  with  the  first  scapegrace  that  gives 
them  a  chance." 

"  I  think  Big  Abel  did  just  right,"  said  Betty, 
fearlessly. 

The  old  gentleman  squared  himself  to  fix  her  with 
his  weak  red  eyes. 

"Oh,  you're  just  the  same,"  he  returned  pet- 
tishly, "  just  the  same." 

"  But  I  don't  steal  your  chickens,  sir,"  protested 
the  girl,  laughing. 

The  Major  grunted  and  looked  down  at  her  in 
angry  silence ;  then  his  face  relaxed  and  a  frosty 
smile  played  about  his  lips. 

"  You  are  young,  my  child,"  he  replied,  in  a  kind 
of  austere  sadness,  "  and  youth  is  always  an  enemy 
to  the  old  —  to  the  old,"  he  repeated  quietly,  and 
looked  at  his  wrinkled  hand. 

But  in  the  excitement  of  the  next  autumn,  he 
showed  for  a  time  a  revival  of  his  flagging  spirit. 
When  the  elections  came  he  followed  them  with 
an  absorption  that  had  in  it  all  the  violence  of  a 
mental  malady.  The  four  possible  Presidents  that 
stood  before  the  people  were  drawn  for  him  in  bold 
lines  of  black  and  white  —  the  outward  and  visible 
distinction  between,  on  the  one  side,  the  three  "  ad- 


272  The  Battle-Ground 

venturers  "  whom  he  heartily  opposed,  and,  on  the 
other,  the  "  Kentucky  gentleman,"  for  whom  he  as 
heartily  voted.  There  was  no  wavering  in  his  con- 
victions—  no  uncertainty;  he  was  troubled  by  no 
delicate  shades  of  indecision.  What  he  believed, 
and  that  alone,  was  God-given  right;  what  he  did 
not  believe,  with  all  things  pertaining  to  it,  was 
equally  God-forsaken  error. 

Toward  the  Governor,  when  the  people's  choice 
was  known,  he  displayed  a  resentment  that  was 
almost  touching  in  its  simplicity. 

"  There's  a  man  who  would  tear  the  last  rag  of 
honour  from  the  Old  Dominion,"  he  remarked,  in 
speaking  of  his  absent  neighbour. 

"  Ah,  Major,"  sighed  tht  rector,  for  it  was  upon 
one  of  his  weekly  visits,  "  what  course  would  you 
have  us  gird  our  loins  to  pursue  ?  " 

"  Course?  "  promptly  retorted  the  Major.  "  Why, 
the  course  of  courage,  sir." 

The  rector  shook  his  great  head.  "  My  dear 
friend,  I  fear  you  recognize  the  virtue  only  when 
she  carries  the  battle-axe,"  he  observed. 

For  a  moment  the  Major  glared  at  him;  then, 
restrained  by  his  inherited  reverence  for  the  pulpit, 
he  yielded  the  point  with  the  soothing  acknowledg- 
ment that  he  was  always  "  willing  to  make  due  al- 
lowance for  ministers  of  the  gospel." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  gasped  Mr.  Blake,  as  his  jaw 
dropped.  His  face  showed  plainly  that  so  profes- 
sional an  allowance  was  exactly  what  he  did  not  take 
to  be  his  due ;  but  he  let  sleeping  dangers  lie,  and  it 
was  not  until  a  fortnight  later,  when  he  rode  out 
with  a  copy  of  the  Charleston  Mercury  and  the  news 


The  Hush  before  the  Storm        273 

of  the  secession  of  South  Carolina,  that  he  found 
the  daring  to  begin  a  direct  approach. 

It  was  a  cold,  bright  evening  in  December,  and 
the  Major  unfolded  the  paper  and  read  it  by  the 
firelight,  which  glimmered  redly  on  the  frosted 
window  panes.  When  he  had  finished,  he  looked 
over  the  fluttering  sheet  into  the  pale  face  of  the 
rector,  and  waited  breathlessly  for  the  first  decisive 
words. 

"  May  she  depart  in  peace,"  said  the  minister,  in 
a  low  voice. 

The  old  gentleman  drew  a  long  breath,  and,  in 
the  cheerful  glow,  the  other,  looking  at  him,  saw 
his  weak  red  eyes  fill  with  tears.  Then  he  took  out 
his  handkerchief,  shook  it  from  its  folds,  and  loudly 
blew  his  nose. 

"  It  was  the  Union  our  fathers  made,  Mr.  Blake," 
he  said. 

"  And  the  Union  you  fought  for,  Major,"  re- 
turned the  rector. 

"  In  two  wars,  sir,"  he  glanced  down  at  his  arm 
as  if  he  half  expected  to  see  a  wound,  "  and  I  shall 
never  fight  for  another,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 
"  My  fighting  days  are  over." 

They  were  both  silent,  and  the  logs  merrily 
crackled  on  the  great  brass  andirons,  while  the 
flames  went  singing  up  the  chimney.  A  glass  of 
Burgundy  was  at  the  rector's  hand,  and  he  lifted  it 
from  the  silver  tray  and  sipped  it  as  he  waited.  At 
last  the  old  man  spoke,  bending  forward  from  his 
station  upon  the  hearth-rug. 

"  You  haven't  seen  Peyton  Ambler,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"  I  passed  him  coming  out  of  town  and  he  was 


474  The  Battle-Ground 

trembling  like  a  leaf,"  replied  the  rector.  "  He  looks 
badly,  by  the  way.  I  must  remember  to  tell  the  doc- 
tor he  needs  building  up." 

"  He  didn't  speak  about  this,  eh  ?  " 

"  About  South  Carolina  ?  Oh,  yes,  he  spoke,  sir. 
It  happened  that  Jack  Powell  came  up  with  him 
when  I  did  —  the  boy  was  cheering  with  all  his 
might,  and  I  heard  him  ask  the  Governor  if  he  ques- 
tioned the  right  of  the  state  to  secede  ?  " 

"And  Peyton  said,  sir?"  The  Major  leaned 
eagerly  toward  him. 

"  He  said,"  pursued  the  rector,  laughing  softly. 
"  '  God  forbid,  my  boy,  that  I  should  question  the 
right  of  any  man  or  any  country  to  pursue  folly.'  " 

"  Folly !  "  cried  the  Major,  sharply,  firing  at  the 
first  sign  of  opposition.  "  It  was  a  brave  deed,  sir, 
a  brave  deed  —  and  I  —  yes,  I  envy  the  honour  for 
Virginia.  And  as  for  Peyton  Ambler,  it  is  my  belief 
that  it  is  he  who  has  sapped  the  courage  of  the  state. 
Why,  my  honest  opinion  is  that  there  are  not  fifty 
men  in  Virginia  with  the  spirit  to  secede  —  and  they 
are  women." 

The  rector  laughed  and  tapped  his  wine-glass. 

"  You  mustn't  let  that  reach  Mrs.  Lightfoot'^ 
ears,  Major,"  he  cautioned,  "  for  I  happen  to  know 
that  she  prides  herself  upon  being  what  the  papers 
call  a  '  skulker.'  "  He  stopped  and  rose  heavily  to 
his  feet,  for,  at  this  point,  the  door  was  opened  by 
Cupid  and  the  old  lady  rustled  stiffly  into  the  room. 

"  I  came  down  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Lightfoot,  that 
you  really  must  not  allow  yourself  to  become  ex- 
cited," she  explained,  when  the  rector  had  com- 
fortably settled  her  upon  the  hearth-rug. 


The  Hush  before  the  Storm         275 

"  Pish !  tush !  my  dear,  there's  not  a  cooler  man 
in  Virginia,"  replied  the  Major,  frowning;  but  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening  he  brooded  in  troubled  silence 
in  his  easy  chair. 

In  February,  a  week  after  a  convention  of  the 
people  was  called  at  Richmond,  the  old  gentleman 
surrendered  to  a  sharp  siege  of  the  gout,  and 
through  the  long  winter  days  he  sat,  red  and  queru- 
lous, before  the  library  fire,  with  his  bandaged  foot 
upon  the  ottoman  that  wore  Aunt  Emmeline's  wed- 
ding dress.  From  Leicesterburg  a  stanch  Union 
man  had  gone  to  the  convention;  and  the  Major 
still  resented  the  selection  of  his  neighbours  as  bit- 
terly as  if  it  were  an  affront  to  aspirations  of  his 
own. 

"  Dick  Powell !  Pooh !  he's  another  Peyton  Am- 
bler," he  remarked  testily,  "  and  on  my  word  there' re 
too  many  of  his  kind  —  too  many  of  his  kind.  What 
we  lack,  sir,  is  men  of  spirit." 

When  his  friends  came  now  he  shot  his  angry 
questions,  like  bullets,  from  the  fireside.  "  Haven't 
they  done  anything  yet,  eh?  How  much  longer  do 
you  reckon  that  roomful  of  old  women  will  gabble 
in  Richmond?  Why,  we  might  as  well  put  a  flock 
of  sheep  to  decide  upon  a  measure !  " 

But  the  "  roomful  of  old  women  "  would  not  be 
hurried,  and  the  Major  grew  almost  hoarse  with 
scolding.  For  more  than  two  months,  while  North 
and  South  barked  at  each  other  across  her  borders, 
Virginia  patiently  and  fruitlessly  worked  for  peace ; 
and  for  more  than  two  months  the  Major  writhed  a 
prisoner  upon  the  hearth. 

With  the  coming  of  the  spring  his  health  mended, 


1^6  The  Battle-Ground 

and  on  an  April  morning,  when  Betty  and  the  Gov- 
ernor drove  over  for  a  quiet  chat,  they  found  him 
limping  painfully  up  and  down  the  drive  with  the 
help  of  a  great  gold-knobbed  walking-stick. 

He  greeted  them  cordially,  and  limped  after  them 
into  the  library  where  Mrs.  Lightfoot  sat  knitting. 
While  he  slowly  settled  his  foot,  in  its  loose  "  car- 
pet "  slipper,  upon  the  ottoman,  he  began  a  rambling 
story  of  the  War  of  1812,  recalling  with  relish  a 
time  when  rations  grew  scant  in  camp,  and  "  Will 
Boiling  and  myself  set  out  to  scour  the  country." 
His  thoughts  had  made  a  quick  spring  backward, 
and  in  the  midst  of  events  that  fired  the  Governor's 
blood,  he  could  still  fondly  dwell  upon  the  battles 
of  his  youth. 

The  younger  man,  facing  him  upon  the  hearth, 
listened  with  his  patient  courtesy,  and  put  in  a  sym- 
pathetic word  at  intervals.  No  personal  anxiety 
could  cloud  his  comely  face,  nor  any  grievance  of 
his  own  sharpen  the  edge  of  his  peculiar  suavity. 
It  was  only  when  he  rose  to  go  that  he  voiced,  for  a 
single  instant,  his  recognition  of  the  general  danger, 
and  replied  to  the  Major's  inquiry  about  his  health 
with  the  remark,  "  Ah,  grave  times  make  grave 
faces,  sir." 

Then  he  bowed  over  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  hand,  and 
with  his  arm  about  Betty  went  out  to  the  car- 
riage. 

"  The  Major's  an  old  man,  daughter,"  he  ob- 
served, as  they  rolled  rapidly  back  to  Uplands. 

"  You  mean  he  has  broken  — "  said  Betty,  and 
stopped  short. 

"  Since  Dan  went  away."    As  the  Governor  com- 


The  Hush  before  the  Storm         277 

pleted  her  sentence,  he  turned  and  looked  thought- 
fully into  her  face.  "  It's  hard  to  judge  the  young, 
my  dear,  but  —  "  he  broke  off  as  Betty  had  done, 
and  added  after  a  pause,  "  I  wonder  where  he  is 
now?  " 

Betty  raised  her  eyes  and  met  his  look.  "  I  do 
not  know,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  do  know  that  he 
will  come  back ; "  and  the  Governor,  being  wise  in 
his  generation,  said  nothing  more. 

That  afternoon  he  went  down  into  the  country  to 
inspect  a  decayed  plantation  which  had  come  into  his 
hands,  and  returning  two  days  later,  he  rode  into 
Leicesterburg  and  up  to  the  steps  of  the  little  post- 
office,  where,  as  usual,  the  neighbouring  farmers 
lounged  while  they  waited  for  an  expected  despatch, 
or  discussed  the  midday  mail  with  each  newcomer. 
It  was  April  weather,  and  the  afternoon  sunshine, 
having  scattered  the  loose  clouds  in  the  west,  slanted 
brightly  down  upon  the  dusty  street,  the  little  white- 
washed building,  and  the  locust  tree  in  full  bloom 
before  the  porch. 

When  he  had  dismounted,  the  Governor  tied  his 
horse  to  the  long  white  pole,  raised  for  that  pur- 
pose along  the  sidewalk,  and  went  slowly  up  the 
steps,  shaking  a  dozen  outstretched  hands  before  he 
reached  the  door. 

"What  news,  gentlemen?"  he  asked  with  his 
pleasant  smile.  "  For  two  days  I  have  been  beyond 
the  papers." 

"  Then  there's  news  enough,  Governor,"  re- 
sponded several  voices,  uniting  in  a  common  excite- 
ment. "  There's  news  enough  since  Tuesday,  and 
yet  we're  waiting  here  for  more.     The  President 


278  The  Battle-Ground 

has  called  for  troops  from  Virginia  to  invade  the 
South." 

"  To  invade  the  South,"  repeated  the  Governor, 
paling,  and  a  man  behind  him  took  up  the  words 
and  said  them  over  with  a  fine  sarcasm,  "  To  in- 
vade the  South !  " 

The  Governor  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  little  porch,  where  he  stood  leaning  upon  the 
railing.  With  his  eyes  on  the  blossoming  locust 
tree,  he  waited,  in  helpless  patience,  for  the  words 
to  enter  into  his  thoughts  and  to  readjust  his  con- 
ceptions of  the  last  few  months.  There  slowly  came 
to  him,  as  he  recognized  the  portentous  gravity  in  the 
air  about  him,  something  of  the  significance  of  that 
ringing  call;  and  as  he  stood  there  he  saw  before 
him  the  vision  of  an  army  led  by  strangers  against 
the  people  of  its  blood  —  of  an  army  wasting  the 
soil  it  loved,  warring  for  an  alien  right  against  the 
convictions  it  clung  to  and  the  faith  it  cherished. 

His  brow  darkened,  and  he  turned  with  set  lips  to 
the  group  upon  the  steps.  He  was  about  to  speak, 
but  before  the  words  were  uttered,  there  was  a  cheer 
from  the  open  doorway,  and  a  man,  waving  a  de- 
spatch in  his  hand,  came  running  into  the  crowd. 

"  Last  night  there  was  a  secret  session,"  he  cried 
gayly,  "  and  Virginia  has  seceded !  hurrah !  hur- 
rah !  Virginia  has  seceded !  "  The  gay  voice  passed, 
and  the  speaker,  still  waving  the  paper  in  his  hand, 
ran  down  into  the  street. 

The  men  upon  the  porch  looked  at  one  another, 
and  were  silent.  In  the  bright  sunshine  their  faces 
showed  pale  and  troubled,  and  when  the  sound  of 
cheers  came  floating  from  the  courthouse  green, 


The  Hush  before  the  Storm         279 

they  started  as  if  at  the  first  report  of  cannon.  Then, 
raising  his  hand,  the  Governor  bared  his  head  and 
spoke : — 

"  God  bless  Virginia,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

The  next  week  Champe  came  home  from  college, 
flushed  with  enthusiasm,  eager  to  test  his  steel. 

"  It's  great  news,  uncle,"  were  his  first  joyful 
words,  as  he  shook  the  Major's  hand. 

"  That  it  is,  my  boy,  that  k  is,"  chuckled  the 
Major,  in  a  high  good-humour. 

"  I'm  going,  you  know,"  went  on  the  young  man 
lightly.  "  They're  getting  up  a  company  in  Leices- 
terburg,  and  I'm  to  be  Captain.  I  got  a  letter  about 
it  a  week  ago,  and  I've  been  studying  like  thunder 
ever  since." 

"  Well,  well,  it  will  be  a  pleasant  little  change  for 
you,"  responded  the  old  man.  "  There's  nothing 
like  a  few  weeks  of  war  to  give  one  an  appetite." 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  looked  up  from  her  knitting  with 
a  serious  face. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  may  last  months,  Mr.  Light- 
foot  ?  "  she  inquired  dubiously.  "  I  was  wondering 
if  I  hadn't  better  supply  Champe  with  extra  under- 
clothing. 

"  Tut-tut,  ma'am,"  protested  the  Major,  warmly. 
"  Can't  you  leave  such  things  as  war  to  my  judg- 
ment? Haven't  I  been  in  two?  Months!  Non- 
sense! Why,  in  two  weeks  we'll  sweep  every 
Yankee  in  the  country  as  far  north  as  Greenland. 
Two  weeks  will  be  ample  time,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  I  give  them  six  months,"  generously  re- 
marked Champe,  in  defiance  of  the  Major's  gather- 
ing frown. 


280  The  Battle-Ground 

"And  what  do  you  know  about  it,  sir?"  de- 
manded the  old  gentleman.  "  Were  you  in  the  War 
of  1 812  ?    Were  you  even  in  the  Mexican  War,  sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  hardly,"  replied  Champe,  smiling,  "  but 
all  the  same  I  give  them  six  months  to  get  whipped." 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  will  be  over  before  winter," 
observed  Mrs.  Lightfoot,  glancing  round.  "  Things 
will  be  a  little  upset,  I  fear." 

The  Major  twitched  with  anger.  "  There  you  go 
again  —  both  of  you !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  might 
suppose  after  all  these  years  you  would  place  some 
reliance  on  my  judgment ;  but,  no,  you  will  keep  up 
your  croaking  until  our  troops  are  dictating  terms 
at  Washington.     Six  months !     Tush !  " 

"  Professor  Bates  thinks  it  will  take  a  year,"  re- 
turned Champe,  his  interest  overleaping  his  discre- 
tion. 

"  And  when  did  he  fight,  sir  ? "  inquired  the 
Major. 

"  Well,  any  way,  it's  safer  to  prepare  for  six 
months,"  was  Champe's  rejoinder.  "  I  shouldn't 
like  to  run  short  of  things,  you  know." 

"  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir,"  thundered 
the  Major.  "  It's  going  to  be  a  two  weeks'  war, 
and  you  shall  take  an  outfit  for  two  weeks,  or  stay 
at  home !  By  God,  sir,  if  you  contradict  me  again 
I'll  not  let  you  go  to  fight  the  Yankees." 

Champe  stared  for  an  instant  into  the  inflamed 
face  of  the  old  gentleman,  and  then  his  cheery  smile 
broke  out. 

"  That  settles  it,  uncle,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  It's 
to  be  a  war  of  two  weeks,  and  I'll  come  home  a 
Major-general  before  the  holidays." 


BOOK  THIRD 
THE  SCHOOL  OF   WAR 


BOOK   THIRD 
THE  SCHOOL  OF  WAR 


HOW    MERRY   GENTLEMEN    WENT   TO    WAR 

The  July  sun  fell  straight  and  hot  upon  the 
camp,  and  Dan,  as  he  sat  on  a  woodpile  and  ate  a 
green  apple,  wistfully  cast  his  eyes  about  for  a 
deeper  shade.  But  the  young  tree  from  which  he 
had  just  shaken  its  last  fruit  stood  alone  between 
the  scattered  tents  and  the  blur  of  willows  down 
the  gentle  slope,  and  beneath  its  speckled  shadow 
the  mess  had  gathered  sleepily,  after  the  mid- 
day meal. 

In  the  group  of  privates,  stretched  under  the 
gauzy  shade  on  the  trampled  grass,  the  first  thing 
to  strike  an  observer  would  have  been,  perhaps, 
their  surprising  youth.  They  were  all  young  — 
the  eldest  hardly  more  than  three  and  twenty 
—  and  the  faces  bore  a  curious  resemblance  in  type, 
as  if  they  were,  one  and  all,  variations  from  a  com- 
mon stock.  There  was  about  them,  too,  a  peculiar 
expression  of  enthusiasm,  showing  even  in  the  faces 
of  those  who  slept;  a  single  wave  of  emotion 
which,  rising  to  its  height  in  an  entire  people  re- 

283 


284  The  Battle-Ground 

vealed  itself  in  the  features  of  the  individual  sol- 
dier. As  yet  the  flower  of  the  South  had  not  with- 
ered on  its  stalk,  and  the  men  first  gathered  to 
defend  the  borders  were  men  who  embraced  a 
cause  as  fervently  as  they  would  embrace  a  woman ; 
men  in  whom  the  love  of  an  abstract  principle  be- 
came, not  a  religion,  but  a  romantic  passion. 

Beyond  them,  past  the  scattered  tents  and  the 
piles  of  clean  straw,  the  bruised  grass  of  the  field 
swept  down  to  a  little  stream  and  the  fallen  stones 
that  had  once  marked  off  the  turnpike.  Farther 
away,  there  was  a  dark  stretch  of  pines  relieved 
against  the  faint  blue  tracery  of  the  distant  moun- 
tains. 

Dan,  sitting  in  the  thin  shelter  on  the  woodpile, 
threw  a  single  glance  at  the  strip  of  pines,  and 
brought  back  his  gaze  to  Big  Abel  who  was  split- 
ting an  oak  log  hard  by.  The  work  had  been 
assigned  to  the  master,  who  had,  in  turn,  tossed  it 
to  the  servant,  with  the  remark  that  he  "  came  out 
to  kill  men,  not  to  cut  wood." 

"  I  say,  Big  Abel,  this  sun's  blazing  hot,"  he 
now  offered  cheerfully. 

Big  Abel  paused  for  a  moment  and  wiped  his  brow 
with  his  blue  cotton  sleeve. 

"  Dis  yer  ain'  no  oak,  caze  it's  w'it-leather,"  he 
rejoined  in  an  injured  tone,  as  he  lifted  the  axe 
and  sent  it  with  all  his  might  into  the  shivering 
log,  which  threw  out  a  shower  of  fine  chips. 
The  powerful  stroke  brought  into  play  the  negro's 
splendid  muscles,  and  Dan,  watching  him,  carelessly 
observed  to  a  young  fellow  lying  half  asleep  upon 
the  ground,  "  Big  Abel  could  whip  us  all,  Bland,  if 
he  had  a  mind  to." 


How  Merry  Gentlemen  Went  to  War     285 

Bland  grunted  and  opened  his  eyes;  then  he 
yawned,  stretched  his  arms,  and  sat  up  against  the 
logs.  He  was  bright  and  boyish-looking,  with  a 
frank  tanned  face,  which  made  his  curling  flaxen 
hair  seem  almost  white. 

"  I  worked  like  a  darky  hauling  yesterday,"  he 
said  reproachfully,  "  but  when  your  turn  comes, 
you  climb  a  woodpile  and  pass  the  job  along.  When 
we  go  into  battle  I  suppose  Dandy  and  you 
will  sit  down  to  boil  coffee,  and  hand  your  muskets 
to  the  servants." 

"  Oh,  are  we  ever  going  into  battle  ?  "  growled 
Jack  Powell  from  the  other  side.  "  Here  I've  been 
at  this  blamed  drilling  until  I'm  stiff  in  every  joint, 
and  I  haven't  seen  so  much  as  the  tail  end  of  a 
fight.  You  may  rant  as  long  as  you  please  about 
martial  glory,  but  if  there's  any  man  who  thinks 
it's  fun  merely  to  get  dirty  and  eat  raw  food,  well, 
he's  welcome  to  my  share  of  it,  that's  all.  I  haven't 
had  so  much  as  one  of  the  necessities  of  life  since 
I  settled  down  in  this  old  field;  even  my  hair  has 
taken  to  standing  on  end.  I  say,  Beau,  do  you  hap- 
pen to  have  any  pomade  about  you?  Oh,  you 
needn't  jeer,  Bland,  there's  no  danger  of  your  get- 
ting bald,  with  that  sheepskin  over  your  scalp  r 
and,  besides,  I'm  willing  enough  to  sacrifice  my 
life  for  my  country.  I  object  only  to  giving  it  my 
hair  instead." 

"  I  believe  you'll  find  a  little  in  my  knapsack," 
gravely  replied  Dan,  to  be  assailed  on  the  spot  by 
a  chorus  of  comic  demands. 

"  I  say,  Beau,  have  you  any  rouge  on  hand  ?  I'm 
growing    pale.     Please    drop  a    little    cologne  on 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 13 


286  The  Battle-Ground 

this  handkerchief,  my  boy.  May  I  borrow  your 
powder  puff?  I've  been  sitting  in  the  sun.  Don't 
you  want  that  gallon  of  stale  buttermilk  to  take 
your  tan  off,  Miss  Nancy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  cried  Dan,  sharply ;  "  if  you 
choose  to  turn  pigs  simply  because  you've  come  out 
to  do  a  little  fighting,  I've  nothing  to  say  against 
it;  but  I  prefer  to  remain  a  gentleman,  that's  all." 

"  He  prefers  to  remain  a  gentleman,  that's  all," 
chanted  the  chorus  round  the  apple  tree. 

"  And  I'll  knock  your  confounded  heads  off,  if 
you  keep  this  up,"  pursued  Dan  furiously. 

"  And  he'll  knock  our  confounded  heads  off,  if  we 
keep  this  up,"  shouted  the  chorus  in  a  jubilant  re- 
frain. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  remarked  Jack 
Powell,  feeling  his  responsibility  in  the  matter  of 
the  pomade.  "  All  I've  got  to  say  is,  if  this  is  what 
you  call  war,  it's  a  pretty  stale  business.  The  next 
time  I  want  to  be  frisky,  I'll  volunteer  to  pass  the 
lemonade  at  a  Sunday-school  picnic." 

"  And  has  anybody  called  it  war,  Dandy  ?  "  in- 
quired Bland,  witheringly. 

"  Well,  somebody  might,  you  know,"  replied  Jack, 
opening  his  fine  white,  shirt  at  the  neck,  "  did  I 
hear  you  call  it  war,  Kemper?"  he  asked  politely, 
as  he  punched  a  stout  sleeper  beside  him. 

Kemper  started  up  and  aimed  a  blow  at  vacancy. 
"  Oh,  you  heard  the  devil !  "  he  retorted. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  it  was  mistaken  identity," 
returned  Jack  suavely. 

"  Look  here,  my  lad,  don't  fool  with  Kemper 
when  he's  hot,"  cautioned  Bland.    "  He's  red  enough 


How  Merry  Gentlemen  Went  to  War     287 

to  fire  those  bales  of  straw.  I  say,  Kemper,  may  I 
light  my  pipe  at  your  face?" 

"  Shut  up,  now,  or  he'll  be  puffing  round  here 
like  a  steam  engine,"  said  a  small  dark  man  named 
Baker,  "  let  smouldering  fires  lie  on  a  day  like  this. 
Give  me  a  light,  Dandy." 

Jack  Powell  held  out  his  cigar,  and  then,  leaning 
back  against  the  tree,  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  about 
his  head. 

"  I'll  be  blessed  if  I  don't  think  seven  hours' 
drill  is  too  much  of  a  bad  thing,"  he  plaintively  re- 
marked ;  "  and  I  may  as  well  add,  by  the  bye, 
that  the  next  time  I  go  to  war,  I  intend  to  go  in  the 
character  of  a  Major-general." 

"  Make  it  Commander-in-chief.  Don't  be  too 
modest,  my  boy." 

"  Well,  you  may  laugh  if  you  like,"  pursued  Jack, 
"  but  between  you  and  me,  it  was  all  the  fault  of 
those  girls  at  home  —  they  have  an  idea  that  patri- 
otism never  trims  its  sleeves,  you  know.  On  my 
word,  I  might  have  been  Captain  of  the  Leicester- 
burg  Guards  after  Champe  Lightfoot  joined  the 
cavalry;  but  such  averted  looks  were  turned  from 
me  by  the  ladies,  that  I  had  to  jump  into  the  ranks 
merely  to  reinstate  myself  in  their  regard.  They 
made  even  Governor  Ambler  volunteer  as  a  private, 
I  believe,  but  he  was  lucky  and  got  made  a  Colonel 
instead." 

Bland  laughed  softly. 

"  That  reminds  me  of  our  Colonel,"  he  observed. 
"  I  overheard  him  talking  to  himself  the  other  day, 
and  he  said :  '  All  I  ask  is  not  to  be  in  command 
of  a  volunteer  regiment  in  hell/  n 


288  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  he  won't,"  put  in  Dan ;  "  all  the  volunteer 
will  be  in  heaven  —  unless  they're  sent  down  be- 
low because  they  were  too  big  fools  to  join  the 
cavalry." 

"  Then,  in  heaven's  name,  why  didn't  you  join  the 
cavalry  ?  "  inquired  Baker. 

Dan  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  threw  the 
apple  core  at  a  water  bucket  that  stood  upside  down 
upon  the  grass.  "  Well,  I  couldn't  go  on  my  own 
horse,  you  see,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  wouldn't  go  on 
the  Government's.    I  don't  ride  hacks." 

"  So  you  came  into  the  infantry  to  get  court- 
martialled,"  remarked  Bland.  "  The  captain  said 
down  the  valley,  you'll  remember,  that  if  the  war 
lasted  a  month,  you'd  be  court-martialled  for  dis- 
obedience on  the  thirtieth  day." 

Dan  growled  under  his  breath.  "  Well,  I  didn't 
enter  the  army  to  be  hectored  by  any  fool  who 
comes  along,"  he  returned.  "  Look  at  that  fellow 
Jones,  now.  He  thinks  because  he  happens  to  be 
Lieutenant  that  he's  got  a  right  to  forget  that  I'm 
a  gentleman  and  he's  not.  Why,  the  day  before 
we  came  up  here,  he  got  after  me  at  drill  about 
being  out  of  step,  or  some  little  thing  like  that; 
and,  by  George,  to  hear  him  roar  you'd  have  thought 
that  war  wasn't  anything  but  monkeying  round 
with  a  musket.  Why,  the  rascal  came  from  my 
part  of  the  country,  and  his  father  before  him  wasn't 
fit  to  black  my  boots." 

"  Did  you  knock  him  down  ?  "  eagerly  inquired 
Bland. 

"  I  told  him  to  take  off  his  confounded  finery  and 
I  would,"  answered  Dan.    "  So  when  drill  was  over, 


How  Merry  Gentlemen  Went  to  War     289 

we  went  off  behind  a  tent,  and  I  smashed  his  nose. 
He's  no  coward,  I'll  say  that  for  him,  and  when 
the  Captain  told  him  he  looked  as  if  he'd  been 
fighting,  he  laughed  and  said  he  had  had  '  a  little 
personal  encounter  with  the  enemy.'  " 

"  Well,  I'm  willing  enough  to  do  battle  for  my 
country,"  said  Jack  Powell,  "  but  I'll  be  blessed  if 
I'm  going  to  have  my  elbow  jogged  by  the  poor 
white  trash  while  I'm  doing  it." 

"  He  was  scolding  at  us  yesterday  because  when 
we  were  detailed  to  clean  out  the  camp,  we  gave 
the  order  to  the  servants,"  put  in  Baker.  "  Clean 
out  the  camp!  Does  he  think  my  grandmother 
was  a  chambermaid  ?  "  He  suddenly  broke  off  and 
helped  himself  to  a  drink  of  water  from  a  dripping 
bucket  that  a  tall  mountaineer  was  passing  round 
the  group. 

"  Been  to  the  creek,  Pinetop  ? "  he  asked  good- 
humouredly. 

The  mountaineer,  who  had  won  his  title  from 
his  great  height,  towering  as  he  did  above  every 
man  in  the  company,  nodded  drowsily  as  he  settled 
himself  upon  the  ground.  He  was  lithe  and  hardy 
as  a  young  hickory,  and  his  abundant  hair  was 
of  the  colour  of  ripe  wheat.  At  the  call  to  arms 
he  had  come,  with  long  strides,  down  from  his  bare 
little  cabin  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  bringing  with  him  a 
flintlock  musket,  a  corncob  pipe,  and  a  stockingful 
of  Virginia  tobacco.  Since  the  day  of  his  arrival, 
he  had  accepted  the  pointed  jokes  of  the  mess  into 
which  he  had  drifted,  with  grave  lips  and  a  flicker 
of  his  calm  blue  eyes.  They  had  jeered  him  un- 
mercifully, and  he  had  regarded  them  with  serene 


igo  The  Battle-Ground 

and  wondering  attention.  "  I  say,  Pinetop,  is  it 
raining  up  where  you  are  ?  "  a  wit  had  put  to  him 
on  the  first  day,  and  he  had  looked  down  and  an- 
swered placidly :  — 

"  Naw,  it's  cl'ar." 

As  he  sat  down  in  the  group  beside  the  woodpile, 
Bland  tossed  him  the  latest  paper,  but  carefully 
folding  it  into  a  square,  he  laid  it  aside,  and 
stretched  himself  upon  the  brown  grass. 

"  This  here's  powerful  weather  for  sweatin'," 
he  pleasantly  observed,  as  he  pulled  a  mullein  leaf 
from  the  foot  of  the  apple  tree  and  placed  it  over 
his  eyes.  Then  he  turned  over  and  in  a  moment 
was  sleeping  as  quietly  as  a  child. 

Dan  got  down  from  the  logs  and  stood  thought- 
fully staring  in  the  direction  of  the  happy  little 
town  lying  embosomed  in  green  hills.  That  little 
town  gave  to  him,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  noon 
heat,  a  memory  of  deep  gardens  filled  with  fra- 
grance, of  open  houses  set  in  blue  shadows,  and 
of  the  bright  fluttering  of  Confederate  flags.  For 
a  moment  he  looked  toward  it  down  the  hot  road; 
then,  with  a  sigh,  he  turned  away  and  wandered 
off  to  seek  the  outside  shadow  of  a  tent. 

As  he  flung  himself  down  in  the  strip  of  shade, 
his  gaze  went  longingly  to  the  dim  chain  of  moun- 
tains which  showed  like  faint  blue  clouds  against 
the  sky,  while  his  thoughts  returned,  as  a  sick  man's, 
to  the  clustered  elm  boughs  and  the  smooth  lawn  at 
Chericoke,  and  to  Betty  blooming  like  a  flower  in 
a  network  of  sun  and  shade. 

The  memory  was  so  vivid  that  when  he  closed 
his  eyes  it  was  almost  as  if  he  heard  the  tapping  of 


How  Merry  Gentlemen  Went  to  War     291 

the  tree-tops  against  the  roof,  and  felt  the  pleasant 
breeze  blowing  over  the  sweet-smelling  meadows. 
He  looked,  through  his  closed  eyes,  into  the  dim 
old  house,  seeing  the  rustling  grasses  in  the  great 
blue  jar  and  their  delicate  shadow  trembling  on  the 
pure  white  wall.  There  was  the  tender  hush  about 
it  that  belongs  to  the  memories  of  dead  friends  or 
absent  places :  a  hush  that  was  reverent  as  a  Sab- 
bath calm.  He  saw  the  shining  swords  of  the 
Major  and  the  Major's  father;  the  rear  door  with 
the  microphylla  roses  nodding  upon  the  lintel,  and, 
high  above  all,  the  shadowy  bend  of  the  staircase, 
with  Betty  standing  there  in  her  cool  blue  gown. 

He  opened  his  eyes  with  a  start,  and  pillowing  his 
head  on  his  arm,  lay  looking  off  into  the  burning 
distance.  A  bee,  straying  from  a  field  of  clover 
across  the  road,  buzzed,  for  a  moment,  round  his 
face,  and  then  knocked,  with  a  flapping  noise,  against 
the  canvas  tent.  Far  away,  beyond  the  murmur 
of  the  camp,  he  heard  a  partridge  whistling  in  a 
tangled  meadow;  and  at  the  same  instant  his  own 
name  called  through  the  sunlight. 

"  I  say,  Beau,  Beau,  where  are  you  ? "  He  sat 
up,  and  shouted  in  response,  and  Jack  Powell 
came  hurriedly  round  the  tent  to  fling  himself  down 
upon  the  beaten  grass. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  you  missed !  "  he 
cried,  chuckling.  "  You  didn't  stay  long  enough 
to  hear  the  joke  on  Bland." 

"  I  hope  it's  a  fresh  one,"  was  Dan's  response. 
"  If  it's  that  old  thing  about  the  mule  and  the 
darky,  I  may  as  well  say  in  the  beginning  that  I 
heard  it  in  the  ark." 


192  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  it's  new,  old  man.  He  made  the  mistake 
of  trying  to  get  some  fun  out  of  Pinetop,  and  he 
got  more  than  he  bargained  for,  that's  all.  He  be- 
gan to  tease  him  about  those  blue  jean  trousers  he 
carries  in  his  knapsack.  You've  seen  them,  I 
reckon  ?  " 

Dan  nodded  as  he  chewed  idly  at  a  blade  of 
grass.  "  I  tried  to  get  him  to  throw  them  away 
yesterday,"  he  said,  "  and  he  did  go  so  far  as  to 
haul  them  out  and  look  them  over;  but  after  med- 
itating a  half  hour,  he  packed  them  away  again  and 
declared  there  was  '  a  sight  of  wear  left  in  them 
still.'  He  told  me  if  he  ever  made  up  his  mind  to 
get  rid  of  them,  and  peace  should  come  next  day, 
he'd  never  forgive  himself." 

"  Well,  I  warned  Bland  not  to  meddle  with  him," 
pursued  Jack,  "  but  he  got  bored  and  set  in  to  make 
things  lively.  '  Look  here,  Pinetop,'  he  began,  '  will 
you  do  me  the  favour  to  give  me  the  name  of  the 
tailor  who  made  your  blue  jeans?'  and,  bless  your 
life,  Pinetop  just  took  the  mullein  leaf  from  his 
eyes,  and  sang  out  '  Maw.'  That  was  what  Bland 
wanted,  of  course,  so,  without  waiting  for  the  dan- 
ger signal,  he  plunged  in  again.  '  Then  if  you  don't 
object  I  should  be  glad  to  have  the  pattern  of 
them,'  he  went  on,  as  smooth  as  butter.  •  I  want 
them  to  wear  when  I  go  home  again,  you  know. 
Why,  they're  just  the  things  to  take  a  lady's  eye 
—  they  have  almost  the  fit  of  a  flour-sack  —  and  the 
ladies  are  fond  of  flour,  aren't  they  ? '  The  whole 
crowd  was  waiting,  ready  to  howl  at  Pinetop's 
answer,  and,  sure  enough,  he  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow,  and  drawled  out  in  his  sing-song  tone :    '  I 


How  Merry  Gentlemen  Went  to  War     293 

say,  Sonny,  ain't  yo'  Maw  done  put  you  into 
breeches  yit  ?  '  " 

"  It  serves  him  right,"  said  Dan  sternly,  "  and 
that's  what  I  like  about  Pinetop,  Jack,  there's  no 
ruffling  him."  He  brushed  off  the  bee  that  had  fallen 
on  his  head,  and  dodged  as  it  angrily  flew  back 
again. 

"  Some  of  the  boys  raised  a  row  when  he  came 
into  our  mess,"  returned  Jack,  "  but  where  every 
man's  fighting  for  his  country,  we're  all  equal,  say  I. 
What  makes  me  dog-tired,  though,  is  the  airs  some 
of  these  fool  officers  put  on ;  all  this  talk  about  an 
'  officer's  mess  '  now,  as  if  a  man  is  too  good  to  eat 
with  me  who  wouldn't  dare  to  sit  down  to  my 
table  if  he  had  on  civilian's  clothes.  It's  all  bosh, 
that's  what  it  is." 

He  got  up  and  strolled  off  with  his  grievance, 
and  Dan,  stretching  himself  upon  the  ground,  looked 
across  the  hills,  to  the  far  mountains  where  the 
shadows  thickened. 


n 

THE  DAY'S    MARCH 

In  the  gray  dawn  tents  were  struck,  and  five 
days'  rations  were  issued  with  the  marching  orders. 
As  Dan  packed  his  knapsack  with  trembling  hands, 
he  saw  men  stalking  back  and  forth  like  gigantic 
shadows,  and  heard  the  hoarse  shouting  of  the  com- 
pany officers  through  the  thick  fog  which  had  rolled 
down  from  the  mountains.  There  was  a  persistent 
buzz  in  the  air,  as  if  a  great  swarm  of  bees  had  set- 
tled over  the  misty  valley.  Each  man  was  asking 
unanswerable  questions  of  his  neighbour. 

At  a  little  distance  Big  Abel,  with  several  of  the 
company  "  darkies "  was  struggling  energetically 
over  the  property  of  the  mess,  storing  the  cooking 
utensils  into  a  stout  camp  chest,  which  the  strength 
of  several  men  would  lift,  when  filled,  into  the 
wagon.  Bland,  who  had  just  tossed  his  overcoat 
across  to  them,  turned  abruptly  upon  Dan,  and  de- 
manded warmly  "  what  had  become  of  his  case  of 


razors 


"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  was  Dan's  response, 
as  he  knelt  down  to  roll  up  his  oilcloth  and  blanket. 
"  By  Jove,  it  looks  as  if  we'd  gobble  up  Patterson 
for  breakfast ! " 

"  I  say,  where's  my  case  of  razors  ? "  inquired 
Bland,  with  irritation.  "  They  were  lying  here  a 
«94 


The  Day's  March  295 

moment  ago,  and  now  they're  gone.  Dandy,  have 
you  got  my  razors  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Beau,  what  are  you  going  to  leave 
behind  ?  "  asked  Kemper  over  Bland's  shoulder. 

"Leave  behind?  Why,  dull  care,"  rejoined  Dan 
gayly.  "  By  the  way,  Pinetop,  why  don't  you  save 
your  appetite  for  Patterson's  dainties  ?  " 

Pinetop,  who  was  leisurely  eating  his  breakfast 
of  "  hardtack  "  and  bacon,  took  a  long  draught  from 
his  tin  cup,  and  replied,  as  he  wiped  his  mouth  on 
his  shirt  sleeve,  that  he  "  reckoned  thar  wouldn't 
be  any  trouble  about  finding  room  for  them,  too." 
The  general  gayety  was  reflected  in  his  face;  he 
laughed  as  he  bit  deeply  into  his  half-cooked  bacon. 

Dan  stood  up  and  nervously  strapped  on  his  knap- 
sack; then  he  swung  his  canteen  over  his  shoulder 
and  carefully  tightened  his  belt.  His  face  was 
flushed,  and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  quivered  with 
emotion.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  delay  of  every 
instant  was  a  reckless  waste  of  time,  and  he  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  that  the  enemy  might  be  pre- 
paring to  fall  upon  them  unawares ;  that  while  the 
camp  was  swarming  like  an  ant's  nest,  Patterson 
and  his  men  might  be  making  good  use  of  the  fleet- 
ing moments. 

"  Why  the  devil  don't  we  move  ?  We  ought  to 
move,"  he  said  angrily,  as  he  glanced  round  the 
crowded  field  where  the  men  were  arraying  them- 
selves in  all  the  useless  trappings  of  the  Southern 
volunteer.  Kemper  was  busily  placing  his  neces- 
sary toilet  articles  in  his  haversack,  having  thrown 
away  half  his  rations  for  the  purpose ;  Jack  Powell, 
completely  dressed  for  the  march,  was  examining 


296  The  Battle-Ground 

his  heavy  revolver,  with  the  conscious  pride  a 
field  officer  might  have  felt  in  his  sword.  As  he 
stuck  it  into  his  belt,  he  straightened  himself  with 
a  laugh  and  jauntily  set  his  small  cap  on  his  curling 
hair;  he  was  clean,  comely,  and  smooth-shaven  as 
if  he  had  just  stepped  from  a  hot  bath  and  the  hands 
of  his  barber. 

"  You  may  roll  Dandy  in  the  dust  and  he'll  come 
out  washed,"  Baker  had  once  forcibly  remarked. 

"  I  say,  boys,  why  don't  we  start  ?  "  persisted  Dan 
impatiently,  flicking  with  his  handkerchief  at  a  grain 
of  sand  on  his  high  boots.  Then,  as  Big  Abel 
brought  him  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  drank  it  standing, 
casting  eager  glances  over  the  rim  of  his  cup.  He 
had  an  odd  feeling  that  it  was  all  a  great  fox  hunt 
they  were  soon  to  start  upon ;  that  they  were  wait- 
ing only  for  the  calling  of  the  hounds.  The  Major's 
fighting  blood  had  stirred  within  his  grandson's 
veins,  and  generations  of  dead  Lightfoots  were 
scenting  the  coming  battle  from  the  dust.  When 
Dan  thought  now  of  the  end  to  which  he  should 
presently  be  marching,  it  suggested  to  him  but  a 
quickened  exhilaration  of  the  pulses  and  an  old  en- 
graving of  "  Waterloo,"  which  hung  on  the  dining- 
room  wall  at  Chericoke.  That  was  war;  and  he 
remembered  vividly  the  childish  thrill  with  which  he 
had  first  looked  up  at  it.  He  saw  the  prancing  horses, 
the  dramatic  gestures  of  the  generals  with  flowing 
hair,  the  blur  of  waving  flags  and  naked  swords. 
It  was  like  a  page  torn  from  the  eternal  Romance; 
a  page  upon  which  he  and  his  comrades  should 
play  heroic  parts;  and  it  was  white  blood,  indeed, 
that  did  not  glow  with  the  hope  of  sharing  in  that 


The  Day's  March  297 

picture;  of  hanging  immortal  in  an  engraving  on 
the  wall. 

The  "  fall  in "  of  the  sergeant  was  already- 
sounding  from  the  road,  and,  with  a  last  glance 
about  the  field,  Dan  ran  down  the  gentle  slope  and 
across  the  little  stream  to  take  his  place  in  the  ranks 
of  the  forming  column.  An  officer  on  a  milk-white 
horse  was  making  frantic  gestures  to  the  line,  and 
the  young  man  followed  him  an  instant  with  his 
eyes.  Then,  as  he  stood  there  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine, he  felt  his  impatience  prick  him  like  a  needle. 
He  wanted  to  push  forward  the  regiments  in  front 
of  him,  to  start  in  any  direction  —  only  to  start. 
The  suppressed  excitement  of  the  fox  hunt  was 
upon  him,  and  the  hoarse  voices  of  the  officers 
thrilled  him  as  if  they  were  the  baying  of  the 
hounds.  He  heard  the  musical  jingle  of  moving 
cavalry,  the  hurried  tread  of  feet  in  the  soft  dust, 
the  smothered  oaths  of  men  who  stumbled  over  the 
scattered  stones.  And,  at  last,  when  the  sun  stood 
high  above,  the  long  column  swung  off  toward 
the  south,  leaving  the  enemy  and  the  north  be- 
hind it. 

"  By  God,  we're  running  away,"  said  Bland  in  a 
whisper.  With  the  words  the  gayety  passed  sud- 
denly from  the  army,  and  it  moved  slowly  with  the 
dispirited  tread  of  beaten  men.  The  enemy  lay  to 
the  north,  and  it  was  marching  to  the  south  and 
home. 

As  it  passed  through  the  fragrant  streets  of 
Winchester,  women,  with  startled  eyes,  ran  from 
open  doors  into  the  deep  old  gardens,  and  watched 
it  over  the  honeysuckle  hedges.    Under  the  flutter- 


298  The  Battle-Ground 

ing  flags,  past  the  long  blue  shadows,  with  the 
playing  of  the  bands  and  the  clatter  of  the  canteens 
—  on  it  went  into  the  white  dust  and  the  sunshine. 
From  a  wide  piazza  a  group  of  schoolgirls  pelted  the 
troops  with  roses,  and  as  Dan  went  by  he  caught 
a  white  bud  and  stuck  it  into  his  cap.  He  looked 
back  laughing,  to  meet  the  flash  of  laughing  eyes; 
then  the  gray  line  swept  out  upon  the  turnpike  and 
went  down  the  broad  road  through  the  smooth 
green  fields,  over  which  the  sunlight  lay  like  melted 
gold. 

Dan,  walking  between  Pinetop  and  Jack  Powell, 
felt  a  sudden  homesickness  for  the  abandoned 
camp,  which  they  were  leaving  with  the  gay  little 
town  and  the  red  clay  forts,  naked  to  the  enemy's 
guns.  He  saw  the  branching  apple  tree,  the  burned- 
out  fires,  the  silvery  fringe  of  willows  by  the 
stream;  and  he  saw  the  men  in  blue  already  in 
possession  of  his  woodpile,  broiling  their  bacon  by 
the  logs  that  Big  Abel  had  cut. 

At  the  end  of  three  miles  the  brigades  abruptly 
halted,  and  he  listened,  looking  at  the  ground,  to 
an  order,  which  was  read  by  a  slim  young  officer 
who  pulled  nervously  at  his  moustache.  Down  the 
column  came  a  single  ringing  cheer,  and,  without 
waiting  for  the  command,  the  men  pushed  eagerly 
forward  along  the  road.  What  was  a  forced  march 
of  thirty  miles  to  an  army  that  had  never  seen  a 
battle? 

As  they  went  on  a  boyish  merriment  tripped 
lightly  down  the  turnpike ;  jests  were  shouted,  a  wit 
began  to  tease  a  mounted  officer  who  was  trying 
to  reach  the  front,  and  somebody  with  a  tenor  voice 


The  Day's  March  299 

was  singing  "  Dixie."  A  stray  countryman,  sit- 
ting upon  the  wall  of  loose  stones,  was  greeted  af- 
fectionately by  each  passing  company.  He  was 
a  big,  stupid-looking  man,  with  a  gray  fowl  hang- 
ing, head  downward,  from  his  hand,  and  as  he  re- 
sponded "  Howdy,"  in  an  expressionless  tone,  the 
fowl  craned  its  long  neck  upward  and  pecked  at  the 
creeper  on  the  wall. 

"Howdy,  Jim!"  "Howdy,  Peter!"  "Howdy, 
Luke !  "  sang  the  first  line.  "  How's  your  wife  ?  " 
"  How's  your  wife's  mother?  "  "  How's  your  sister- 
in-law's  uncle  ? "  inquired  the  next.  The  coun- 
tryman spat  into  the  ditch  and  stared  solemnly  in 
reply,  and  the  gray  fowl,  still  craning  its  neck, 
pecked  steadily  at  the  leaves  upon  the  stones. 

Dan  looked  up  into  the  blue  sky,  across  the  open 
meadows  to  the  far-off  low  mountains,  and  then 
down  the  long  turnpike  where  the  dust  hung  in  a 
yellow  cloud.  In  the  bright  sunshine  he  saw  the 
flash  of  steel  and  the  glitter  of  gold  braid,  and  the 
noise  of  tramping  feet  cheered  him  like  music  as  he 
walked  on  gayly,  filled  with  visions.  For  was  he 
not  marching  to  his  chosen  end  —  to  victory,  to 
Chericoke  —  to  Betty?  Or  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst  —  well,  a  man  had  but  one  life,  after 
all,  and  a  life  was  a  little  thing  to  give  his  country. 
Then,  as  always,  his  patriotism  appealed  to  him  as 
a  romance  rather  than  a  religion  —  the  fine  South- 
ern ardour  which  had  sent  him,  at  the  first  call,  into 
the  ranks,  had  sprung  from  an  inward,  not  an  out- 
ward pressure.  The  sound  of  the  bugle,  the  flutter- 
ing of  the  flags,  the  flash  of  hot  steel  in  the  sun- 
light, the  high  old  words  that  stirred  men's  pulses 


300  The  Battle-Ground 

—  these  things  were  his  by  blood  and  right  of  heri- 
tage. He  could  no  more  have  stifled  the  impulse 
that  prompted  him  to  take  a  side  in  any  fight 
than  he  could  have  kept  his  heart  cool  beneath 
the  impassioned  voice  of  a  Southern  orator. 
The  Major's  blood  ran  warm  through  many  genera- 
tions. 

"  I  say,  Beau,  did  you  put  a  millstone  in  my 
knapsack  ? "  inquired  Bland  suddenly.  His  face 
was  flushed,  and  there  was  a  streak  of  wet  dust 
across  his  forehead.  "If  you  did,  it  was  a  dirty 
joke,"  he  added  irritably.  Dan  laughed.  "  Now 
that's  odd,"  he  replied,  "  because  there's  one  in 
mine  also,  and,  moreover,  somebody  has  stuck  pen- 
knives in  my  boots.    Was  it  you,  Pinetop?" 

But  the  mountaineer  shook  his  head  in  silence, 
and  then,  as  they  halted  to  rest  upon  the  roadside, 
he  flung  himself  down  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
sycamore,  and  raised  his  canteen  to  his  lips.  He 
had  come  leisurely  at  his  long  strides,  and  as  Dan 
looked  at  him  lying  upon  the  short  grass  by  the 
wall,  he  shook  his  own  roughened  hair,  in  im- 
patient envy.  "  Why,  you've  stood  it  like  a  Major, 
Pinetop,"  he  remarked. 

Pinetop  opened  his  eyes.  "Stood  what?"  he 
drawled. 

"  Why,  this  heat,  this  dust,  this  whole  con- 
founded march.  I  don't  believe  you've  turned  a 
hair,  as  Big  Abel  says." 

"  Good  Lord,"  said  Pinetop.  "  I  don't  reckon 
you've  ever  ploughed  up  hill  with  a  steer  team." 

Without  replying,  Dan  unstrapped  his  knapsack 
and  threw  it  upon  the  roadside.    "  What  doesn't  go 


The  Day's  March  301 

in  my  haversack,  doesn't  go,  that's  all,"  he  observed. 
"  How  about  you,  Dandy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  threw  mine  away  a  mile  after  starting," 
returned  Jack  Powell,  "  my  luxuries  are  with  a  girl 
I  left  behind  me.  I've  sacrificed  everything  to  the 
cause  except  my  toothbrush,  and,  by  Jove,  if  the 
weight  of  that  goes  on  increasing,  I  shall  be  forced 
to  dispense  with  it  forever.  I  got  rid  of  my  rations 
long  ago.  Pinetop  says  a  man  can't  starve  in  black- 
berry season,  and  I  hope  he's  right.  Anyway,  the 
Lord  will  provide  —  or  he  won't,  that's  certain." 

"Is  this  the  reward  of  faith,  I  wonder?"  said 
Dan,  as  he  looked  at  a  lame  old  negro  who  wheeled 
a  cider  cart  and  a  tray  of  green  apple  pies  down  a 
red  clay  lane  that  branched  off  under  thick  locust 
trees.    "  This  way,  Uncle,  here's  your  man." 

The  old  negro  slowly  approached  them  to  be  in- 
stantly surrounded  by  the  thirsty  regiment. 

"  Howdy,  Marsters  ?  howdy  ?  "  he  began,  pulling 
his  grizzled  hair.  "  Dese  yer's  right  nice  pies,  dat 
dey  is,  suh." 

"  Look  here,  Uncle,  weren't  they  made  in  the 
ark,  now?"  inquired  Bland  jestingly,  as  he  bit  into 
a  greasy  crust. 

"  De  ark  ?  naw,  suh ;  my  Mehaley  she  des  done 
bake  'em  in  de  cabin  over  yonder."  He  lifted  his 
shrivelled  hand  and  pointed,  with  a  tremulous 
gesture,  to  a  log  hut  showing  among  the  distant 
trees. 

"  What  ?   are  you  a  free  man,  Uncle  ?  " 

"  Free  ?  Go  'way  f  om  yer !  ain'  you  never 
hyearn  tell  er  Marse  Plunkett  ? " 

"Plunkett?"  gravely  repeated  Bland,  filling  hi* 


302  The  Battle-Ground 

canteen  with  cider.  "  Look  here,  stand  back,  boys, 
it's  my  turn  now.  —  Plunkett  —  Plunkett  —  can 
I  have  a  long-lost  friend  named  Plunkett?  Where 
is  he,  Uncle  ?  has  he  gone  to  fight  ?  " 

"  Marse  Plunkett?  Naw,  suh,  he  am'  fit  no- 
body." 

"  Well,  you  tell  him  from  me  that  he'd  better 
enlist  at  once,"  put  in  Jack  Powell.  "  This  isn't 
the  time  for  skulkers,  Uncle ;  he's  on  our  side,  isn't 
he  ?  "  The  old  negro  shook  his  head,  looking  uneas- 
ily at  the  froth  that  dripped  from  the  keg  into  the 
dust. 

"  Naw,  suh,  Marse  Plunkett,  he's  fur  de  Un'on, 
but  he's  pow'ful  feared  er  de  Yankees,"  he  returned. 

Bland  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  come,  that's 
downright  treason,"  he  protested  merrily.  "  Your 
Marse  Plunkett's  a  skulker  sure  enough,  and  you 
may  tell  him  so  with  my  compliments.  You're  on 
the  Yankee  side,  too,  I  reckon,  and  there're  bullets 
in  these  pies,  sure  as  I  live." 

The  old  man  shuffled  nervously  on  his  bare  feet. 

"  Go  'way,  Marster,  w'at  I  know  'bout  '  sides  '  ?  " 
he  replied,  tilting  his  keg  to  drain  the  last  few  drops 
into  the  canteen  of  a  thirsty  soldier.  "  I'se  on  de 
Lawd's  side,  dat's  whar  I  is." 

He  fell  back  startled,  for  the  call  of  "  Column, 
forward !  "  was  shouted  down  the  road,  and  in  an 
instant  the  men  had  left  the  emptied  cart,  and  were 
marching  on  into  the  sunny  distance. 

As  the  afternoon  lengthened  the  heat  grew  more 
oppressive.  Straight  ahead  there  was  dust  and 
sunshine  and  the  ceaseless  tramp,  and  on  either 
side  the  fresh  fields  were  scorched  and  whitened  by 


The  Day's  March  303 

a  powdering  of  hot  sand.  Beyond  the  rise  and  dip 
of  the  hills,  the  mountains  burned  like  blue  flames 
on  the  horizon,  and  overhead  the  sky  was  hard  as 
an  inverted  brazier. 

Dan  had  begun  to  limp,  for  his  stiff  boots  galled 
his  feet.  His  senses  were  blunted  by  the  hot  sand 
which  filled  his  eyes  and  ears  and  nostrils,  and  there 
was  a  shimmer  over  all  the  broad  landscape.  When 
he  shook  his  hair  from  his  forehead,  the  dust  floated 
slowly  down  and  settled  in  a  scorching  ring  about 
his  neck. 

The  day  closed  gradually,  and  as  they  neared  the 
river,  the  mountains  emerged  from  obscure  outlines 
into  wooded  heights  upon  which  the  trees  showed 
soft  and  gray  in  the  sunset.  A  cool  breath  was 
blown  through  a  strip  of  damp  woodland,  where 
the  pale  bodies  of  the  sycamores  were  festooned  in 
luxuriant  vines,  and  from  the  twilight  long  shadows 
stretched  across  the  red  clay  road.  Then,  as  they 
went  down  a  rocky  slope,  a  fringe  of  willows  ap- 
peared suddenly  from  the  blur  of  green,  and  they 
saw  the  Shenandoah  running  between  falling  banks, 
with  the  colours  of  the  sunset  floating  like  pink 
flowers  upon  its  breast. 

With  a  shout  the  front  line  plunged  into  the 
stream,  holding  its  heavy  muskets  high  above  the 
current  of  the  water,  and  filing  upon  the  opposite 
bank,  into  a  rough  road  which  wound  amid  the 
ferns. 

Midway  of  the  river,  near  the  fording  point,  there 
was  a  little  island  which  lay  like  a  feathery  tree- 
top  upon  the  tinted  water;  and  as  Dan  went  by, 
he  felt  the  brush  of  willows  on  his  face  and  heard 


304  The  Battle- Ground 

the  soft  lapping  of  the  small  waves  upon  the  shore. 
The  keen  smell  of  the  sycamores  drifted  to  him  from 
the  bank  that  he  had  left,  and  straight  up  stream 
he  saw  a  single  peaked  blue  hill  upon  which  a  white 
cloud  rested.  For  a  moment  he  lingered,  breathing 
in  the  fragrance,  then  the  rear  line  pressed  upon 
him,  and,  crossing  rapidly,  he  stood  on  the  rocky 
edge,  shaking  the  water  from  his  clothes.  Out  of 
the  after-glow  came  the  steady  tramp  of  tired  feet, 
and  with  aching  limbs,  he  turned  and  hastened  with 
the  column  into  the  mountain  pass. 


Ill 


THE    REIGN    OF    THE    BRUTE 

The  noise  of  the  guns  rolled  over  the  green  hills 
into  the  little  valley  where  the  regiment  had  halted 
before  a  wayside  spring,  which  lay  hidden  beneath 
a  clump  of  rank  pokeberry.  As  each  company  filled 
its  canteens,  it  filed  across  the  sunny  road,  from 
which  the  dust  rose  like  steam,  and  stood  resting  in 
an  open  meadow  that  swept  down  into  a  hollow 
between  two  gently  rising  hills.  From  the  spring 
a  thin  stream  trickled,  bordered  by  short  grass,  and 
the  water,  dashed  from  it  by  the  thirsty  men,  gath- 
ered in  shining  puddles  in  the  red  clay  road.  By 
one  of  these  puddles  a  man  had  knelt  to  wash  his 
face,  and  as  Dan  passed,  draining  hie  canteen,  he 
looked  up  with  a  sprinkling  of  brown  drops  on  his 
forehead.  Near  him, unharmed  by  the  tramping  feet, 
a  little  purple  flower  was  blooming  in  the  mud. 

Dan  gazed  thoughtfully  down  upon  him  and  upon 
the  little  purple  flower  in  its  dangerous  spot.  What 
did  mud  or  dust  matter,  he  questioned  grimly,  when 
in  a  breathing  space  they  would  be  in  the  midst  of 
the  smoke  that  hung  close  above  the  hill-top  ?  The 
sound  of  the  cannon  ceased  suddenly,  as  abruptly  as 
if  the  battery  had  sunk  into  the  ground,  and  through 
the  sunny  air  he  heard  a  long  rattle  that  reminded 
305 


306  The  Battle-Ground 

him  of  the  fall  of  hail  on  the  shingled  roof  at  Cheri- 
coke.  As  his  canteen  struck  against  his  side,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  it  met  the  resistance  of  a  leaden 
weight.  There  was  a  lump  in  his  throat  and  his 
lips  felt  parched,  though  the  moisture  from  the 
fresh  spring  water  was  hardly  dried.  When  he 
moved  he  was  conscious  of  stepping  high  above  the 
earth,  as  he  had  done  once  at  college  after  an  over- 
merry  night  and  many  wines. 

Straight  ahead  the  sunshine  lay  hot  and  still  over 
the  smooth  fields  and  the  little  hollow  where  a  brook 
ran  between  marshy  banks.  High  above  he  saw  it 
flashing  on  the  gray  smoke  that  hung  in  tatters  from 
the  tree-tops  on  the  hill. 

An  ambulance,  drawn  by  a  white  and  a  bay  horse, 
turned  gayly  from  the  road  into  the  meadow,  and 
he  saw,  with  surprise,  that  one  of  the  surgeons  was 
trimming  his  finger  nails  with  a  small  penknife. 
The  surgeon  was  a  slight  young  man,  with  pointed 
yellow  whiskers,  and  light  blue  eyes  that  squinted 
in  the  sunshine.  As  he  passed  he  stifled  a  yawn 
with  an  elaborate  affectation  of  unconcern. 

A  man  on  horseback,  with  a  white  handkerchief 
tied  above  his  collar,  galloped  up  and  spoke  in  a 
low  voice  to  the  Colonel.  Then,  as  his  horse  reared, 
he  glanced  nervously  about,  grew  embarrassed,  and, 
with  a  sharp  jerk  of  the  bridle,  galloped  off  again 
across  the  field.  Presently  other  men  rode  back 
and  forth  along  the  road;  there  were  so  many  of 
them  that  Dan  wondered,  bewildered,  if  anybody 
was  left  to  make  the  battle  beyond  the  hill. 

The  regiment  formed  into  line  and  started  at 
"  double  quick  "  across  the  broad  meadow  powdered 


The  Reign  of  the  Brute  307 

white  with  daisies.  As  it  went  into  the  ravine, 
skirting  the  hillside,  a  stream  of  men  came  toward 
it  and  passed  slowly  to  the  rear.  Some  were  on 
stretchers,  some  were  stumbling  in  the  arms  of 
slightly  wounded  comrades,  some  were  merely 
warm  and  dirty  and  very  much  afraid.  One  and  all 
advised  the  fresh  regiment  to  "  go  home  and 
finish  ploughing."  "  The  Yankees  have  got  us  on 
the  hip,"  they  declared  emphatically.  "  Whoopee ! 
it's  as  hot  as  hell  where  you're  going."  Then  a  boy, 
with  a  blood-stained  sleeve,  waved  his  shattered 
arm  in  the  air  and  laughed  deliriously.  "  Don't 
believe  them,  friends,  it's  glorious !  "  he  cried,  in 
the  voice  of  the  far  South,  and  lurched  forward 
upon  the  grass. 

The  sight  of  the  soaked  shirt  and  the  smell  of 
blood  turned  Dan  faint.  He  felt  a  sudden  tremor 
in  his  limbs,  and  his  arteries  throbbed  dully  in  his 
ears.  "  I  didn't  know  it  was  like  this,"  he  muttered 
thickly.  "  Why,  they're  no  better  than  mangled 
rabbits  —  I  didn't  know  it  was  like  this." 

They  wound  through  the  little  ravine,  climbed  a 
hillside  planted  in  thin  corn,  and  were  ordered  to 
"  load  and  lie  down  "  in  a  strip  of  woodland.  Dan 
tore  at  his  cartridge  with  set  teeth;  then  as  he 
drove  his  ramrod  home,  a  shell,  thrown  from  a  dis- 
tant gun,  burst  in  the  trees  above  him,  and  a  red 
flame  ran,  for  an  instant,  along  the  barrel  of  his 
musket.  He  dodged  quickly,  and  a  rain  of  young 
pine  needles  fell  in  scattered  showers  from  the 
smoked  boughs  overhead.  Somewhere  beside  him 
a  man  was  groaning  in  terror  or  in  pain.  "  I'm  hit, 
boys,   by   God,    I'm   hit   this   time."      The   groans 


308  The  Battle-Ground 

changed  promptly  into  a  laugh.  "  Bless  my  soul ! 
the  plagued  thing  went  right  into  the  earth  be- 
neath me." 

"  Damn  you,  it  went  into  my  leg,"  retorted  a 
hoarse  voice  that  fell  suddenly  silent. 

With  a  shiver  Dan  lay  down  on  the  carpet  of 
rotted  pine-cones  and  peered,  like  a  squirrel,  through 
the  meshes  of  the  brushwood.  At  first  he  saw  only 
gray  smoke  and  a  long  sweep  of  briers  and  broom- 
sedge,  standing  out  dimly  from  an  obscurity  that 
was  thick  as  dusk.  Then  came  a  clatter  near  at 
hand,  and  a  battery  swept  at  a  long  gallop  across 
the  thinned  edge  of  the  pines.  So  close  it  came  that 
he  saw  the  flashing  white  eyeballs  and  the  spread- 
ing sorrel  manes  of  the  horses,  and  almost  felt  their 
hot  breath  upon  his  cheek.  He  heard  the  shouts 
of  the  outriders,  the  crack  of  the  stout  whips,  the 
rattle  of  the  caissons,  and,  before  it  passed,  he  had 
caught  the  excited  gestures  of  the  men  upon  the 
guns.  The  battery  unlimbered,  as  he  watched  it, 
shot  a  few  rounds  from  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and 
retreated  rapidly  to  a  new  position.  When  the 
wind  scattered  the  heavy  smoke,  he  saw  only  the 
broom-sedge  and  several  ridges  of  poor  corn ;  some 
of  the  gaunt  stalks  blackened  and  beaten  to  the 
ground,  some  still  flaunting  their  brave  tassels  be- 
neath the  whistling  bullets.  It  was  all  in  sun- 
light, and  the  gray  smoke  swept  ceaselessly  to  and 
fro  over  the  smiling  face  of  the  field. 

Then,  as  he  turned  a  little  in  his  shelter,  he  saw 
that  there  was  a  single  Confederate  battery  in  posi- 
tion under  a  slight  swell  on  his  left.  Beyond  it  he 
knew  that  the  long  slope  sank  gently  into  a  marshy 


The  Reign  of  the  Brute  309 

stream  and  the  broad  turnpike,  but  the  brow  of  the 
hill  went  up  against  the  sky,  and  hidden  in  the 
brushwood  he  could  see  only  the  darkened  line  of 
the  horizon.  Against  it  the  guns  stood  there  in 
the  sunlight,  unsupported,  solitary,  majestic,  while 
around  them  the  earth  was  tossed  up  in  the  air  as  if 
a  loose  plough  had  run  wild  across  the  field.  A 
handful  of  artillerymen  moved  back  and  forth,  like 
dim  outlines,  serving  the  guns  in  a  group  of  fallen 
horses  that  showed  in  dark  mounds  upon  the  hill. 
From  time  to  time  he  saw  a  rammer  waved  ex- 
citedly as  a  shot  went  home,  or  heard,  in  a  lull,  the 
hoarse  voices  of  the  gunners  when  they  called  for 
"  grape !  " 

As  he  lay  there,  with  his  eyes  on  the  solitary 
battery,  he  forgot,  for  an  instant,  his  own  part  in 
the  coming  work.  A  bullet  cut  the  air  above  him, 
and  a  branch,  clipped  as  by  a  razor's  stroke,  fell 
upon  his  head;  but  his  nerves  had  grown  steady 
and  his  thoughts  were  not  of  himself;  he  was 
watching,  with  breathless  interest,  for  another  of 
the  gray  shadows  at  the  guns  to  go  down  among 
the  fallen  horses. 

Then,  while  he  watched,  he  saw  other  batteries 
come  out  upon  the  hill ;  saw  the  cannon  thrown  into 
position  and  heard  the  call  change  from  "  grape !  " 
to  "  canister !  "  On  the  edge  of  the  pines  a  voice 
was  speaking,  and  beyond  the  voice  a  man  on  horse- 
back was  riding  quietly  back  and  forth  in  the  open. 
Behind  him  Jack  Powell  called  out  suddenly, 
"  We're  ready,  Colonel  Burwell !  "  and  his  voice  was 
easy,  familiar,  almost  affectionate. 

"  I  know  it,  boys !  "  replied  the  Colonel  in  the 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 14 


310  The  Battle-Ground 

same  tone,  and  Dan  felt  a  quick  sympathy  spring 
up  within  him.  At  that  instant  he  knew  that  he 
loved  every  man  in  the  regiment  beside  him  —  loved 
the  affectionate  Colonel,  with  the  sleepy  voice,  loved 
Pinetop,  loved  the  lieutenant  whose  nose  he  had 
broken  after  drill. 

At  a  word  he  had  leaped,  with  the  others,  to  his 
feet,  and  stood  drawn  up  for  battle  against  the 
wood.  Then  it  was  that  he  saw  the  General  of  the 
day  riding  beside  fluttering  colours  across  the 
waste  land  to  the  crest  of  the  hill.  He  was  rallying 
the  scattered  brigades  about  the  flag  —  so  the  fight 
had  gone  against  them  and  gone  badly,  after  all. 

Around  him  the  men  drifted  back,  frightened, 
straggling,  defeated,  and  the  broken  ranks  closed 
up  slowly.  The  standards  dipped  for  a  moment  be- 
fore a  sharp  fire,  and  then,  as  the  colour  bearers 
shook  out  the  bright  folds,  soared  like  great  red 
birds'  wings  above  the  smoke. 

It  seemed  to  Dan  that  he  stood  for  hours  motion- 
less there  against  the  pines.  For  a  time  the  fight 
passed  away  from  him,  and  he  remembered  a  moun- 
tain storm  which  had  caught  him  as  a  boy  in  the 
woods  at  Chericoke.  He  heard  again  the  cloud  burst 
overhead,  the  soughing  of  the  pines  and  the  crackling 
of  dried  branches  as  they  came  drifting  down 
through  interlacing  boughs.  The  old  childish  terror 
returned  to  him,  and  he  recalled  his  mad  rush  for 
light  and  space  when  he  had  doubled  like  a  hare  in 
the  wooded  twilight  among  the  dim  bodies  of  the 
trees.  Then  as  now  it  was  not  the  open  that  he 
feared,  but  the  unseen  horror  of  the  shelter. 

Again  the  affectionate  voice  came  from  the  sun- 


The  Reign  of  the  Brute  311 

light  and  he  gripped  his  musket  as  he  started  for- 
ward. He  had  caught  only  the  last  words,  and  he 
repeated  them  half  mechanically,  as  he  stepped  out 
from  the  brushwood.  Once  again,  when  he  stood 
on  the  trampled  broom-sedge,  he  said  them  over 
with  a  nervous  jerk,  "  Wait  until  they  come  within 
fifty  yards  —  and,  for  God's  sake,  boys,  shoot  at  the 
knees !  " 

He  thought  of  the  jolly  Colonel,  and  laughed 
hysterically.  Why,  he  had  been  at  that  man's  wed- 
ding —  had  kissed  his  bride  —  and  now  he  was  beg- 
ging him  to  shoot  at  people's  knees ! 

With  a  cheer,  the  regiment  broke  from  cover  and 
swept  forward  toward  the  summit  of  the  hill.  Dan's 
foot  caught  in  a  blackberry  vine,  and  he  stumbled 
blindly.  As  he  regained  himself  a  shell  ripped,  up 
the  ground  before  him,  flinging  the  warm  clods  of 
earth  into  his  face.  A  "  worm  "  fence  at  a  little 
distance  scattered  beneath  the  fire,  and  as  he  looked 
up  he  saw  the  long  rails  flying  across  the  field.  For 
an  instant  he  hesitated ;  then  something  that  was 
like  a  nervous  spasm  shook  his  heart,  and  he  was  no 
more  afraid.  Over  the  blackberries  and  the  broom- 
sedge,  on  he  went  toward  the  swirls  of  golden  dust 
that  swept  upward  from  the  bright  green  slope.  If 
this  was  a  battle,  what  was  the  old  engraving? 
Where  were  the  prancing  horses  and  the  uplifted 
swords  ? 

Something  whistled  in  his  ears  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  sharp  sounds  that  set  his  teeth  on  edge. 
A  man  went  down  beside  him  and  clutched  at  his 
boots  as  he  ran  past ;  but  the  smell  of  the  battle  — 
a  smell  of  oil  and  smoke,  of  blood  and  sweat  —  was 


3il  The  Battle-Ground 

in  his  nostrils,  and  he  could  have  kicked  the  stiff 
hands  grasping  at  his  feet.  The  hot  old  blood  of  his 
fathers  had  stirred  again  and  the  dead  had  rallied 
to  the  call  of  their  descendant.  He  was  not  afraid, 
for  he  had  been  here  long  before. 

.Behind  him,  and  beside  him,  row  after  row  of 
gray  men  leaped  from  the  shadow  —  the  very  hill 
seemed  rising  to  his  support  —  and  it  was  almost 
gayly,  as  the  dead  fighters  lived  again,  that  he  went 
straight  onward  over  the  sunny  field.  He  saw  the 
golden  dust  float  nearer  up  the  slope,  saw  the  brave 
flags  unfurling  in  the  breeze  —  saw,  at  last,  man 
after  man  emerge  from  the  yellow  cloud.  As  he 
bent  to  fire,  the  fury  of  the  game  swept  over  him 
and  aroused  the  sleeping  brute  within  him.  All  the 
primeval  instincts,  throttled  by  the  restraint  of  cen- 
turies —  the  instincts  of  bloodguiltiness,  of  hot  pur- 
suit, of  the  fierce  exhilaration  of  the  chase,  of  the 
death  grapple  with  a  resisting  foe  —  these  awoke 
suddenly  to  life  and  turned  the  battle  scarlet  to  his 
eyes. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  heavy  clouds  were 
smothering  the  sunset,  he  came  slowly  back  across 
the  field.  A  gripping  nausea  had  seized  upon  him 
—  a  nausea  such  as  he  had  known  before  after 
that  merry  night  at  college.  His  head  throbbed,  and 
as  he  walked  he  staggered  like  a  drunken  man. 
The  revulsion  of  his  overwrought  emotions  had 
thrown  him  into  a  state  of  sensibility  almost  hyster- 
ical. 

The  battle-field  stretched  grimly  round  him,  and 
as  the  sunset  was  blotted  out,  a  gray  mist  crept 


The  Reign  of  the  Brute  313 

slowly  from  the  west.  Here  and  there  he  saw  men 
looking  for  the  wounded,  and  he  heard  one  utter 
an  impatient  "  Pshaw !  "  as  he  lifted  a  half-cold 
body  and  let  it  fall.  Rude  stretchers  went  by  him 
on  either  side,  and  still  the  field  seemed  as  thickly 
sown  as  before;  on  the  left,  where  a  regiment  of 
Zouaves  had  been  cut  down,  there  was  a  flash  of 
white  and  scarlet,  as  if  the  loose  grass  was  strewn 
with  great  tropical  flowers.  Among  them  he  saw 
the  reproachful  eyes  of  dead  and  dying  horses. 

Before  him,  on  the  gradual  slope  of  the  hill,  stood 
a  group  of  abandoned  guns,  and  there  was  some- 
thing almost  human  in  the  pathos  of  their  utter  iso- 
lation. Around  them  the  ground  was  scorched  and 
blackened,  and  scattered  over  the  broken  trails  lay 
the  men  who  had  fallen  at  their  post.  He  saw  them 
lying  there  in  the  fading  daylight,  with  the  sponges 
and  the  rammers  still  in  their  hands,  and  he  saw 
upon  each  man's  face  the  look  with  which  he  had  met 
and  recognized  the  end.  Some  were  smiling,  some 
staring,  and  one  lay  grinning  as  if  at  a  ghastly  joke. 
Near  him  a  boy,  with  the  hair  still  damp  on  his 
forehead,  had  fallen  upon  an  uprooted  blackberry 
vine,  and  the  purple  stain  of  the  berries  was  on  his 
mouth.  As  Dan  looked  down  upon  him,  the  smell 
of  powder  and  burned  grass  came  to  him  with  a 
wave  of  sickness,  and  turning  he  stumbled  on  across 
the  field.  At  the  first  step  his  foot  struck  upon 
something  hard,  and,  picking  it  up,  he  saw  that  it 
was  a  Minie  ball,  which,  in  passing  through  a  man's 
spine,  had  been  transformed  into  a  mass  of  mingled 
bone  and  lead.  With  a  gesture  of  disgust  he 
dropped  it  and  went  on  rapidly.    A  stretcher  moved 


314  The  Battle-Ground 

beside  him,  and  the  man  on  it,  shot  through  the 
waist,  was  saying  in  a  whisper,  "It  is  cold  —  cold 
—  so  cold."  Against  his  will,  Dan  found,  he  had 
fallen  into  step  with  the  men  who  bore  the  stretcher, 
and  together  they  kept  time  to  the  words  of  the 
wounded  soldier  who  cried  out  ceaselessly  that  it 
was  cold.  On  their  way  they  passed  a  group  on 
horseback  and,  standing  near  it,  a  handsome  ar- 
tilleryman, who  wore  a  red  flannel  shirt  with  one 
sleeve  missing.  As  Dan  went  on  he  discovered  that 
he  was  thinking  of  the  handsome  man  in  the  red 
shirt  and  wondering  how  he  had  lost  his  missing 
sleeve.  He  pondered  the  question  as  if  it  were  a 
puzzle,  and,  finally,  yielded  it  up  in  doubt. 

Beyond  the  base  of  the  hill  they  came  into  the 
small  ravine  which  had  been  turned  into  a  rude 
field  hospital.  Here  the  stretcher  was  put  down, 
and  a  tired-looking  surgeon,  wiping  his  hands  upon 
a  soiled  towel,  came  and  knelt  down  beside  the 
wounded  man. 

"  Bring  a  light  —  I  can't  see  —  bring  a  light !  " 
he  exclaimed  irritably,  as  he  cut  away  the  clothes 
with  gentle  fingers. 

Dan  was  passing  on,  when  he  heard  his  name 
called  from  behind,  and  turning  quickly  found 
Governor  Ambler  anxiously  regarding  him. 

"  You're  not  hurt,  my  boy  ?  "  asked  the  Governor, 
and  from  his  tone  he  might  have  parted  from  the 
younger  man  only  the  day  before. 

"Hurt?  Oh,  no,  I'm  not  hurt,"  replied  Dan  a 
little  bitterly,  "  but  there's  a  whole  field  of  them 
back  there,  Colonel." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so  —  I  suppose  so,"  returned 


The  Reign  of  the  Brute  315 

the  other  absently.  "  I'm  looking  after  my  men 
now,  poor  fellows.  A  victory  doesn't  come  cheap, 
you  know,  and  thank  God,  it  was  a  glorious  vic- 
tory." 

"  A  glorious  victory,"  repeated  Dan,  looking  at 
the  surgeons  who  were  working  by  the  light  of 
tallow  candles. 

The  Governor  followed  his  gaze.  "  It's  your 
first  fight,"  he  said,  "  and  you  haven't  learned  your 
lesson  as  I  learned  mine  in  Mexico.  The  best,  or 
the  worst  of  it,  is  that  after  the  first  fight  it  comes 
easy,  my  boy,  it  comes  too  easy." 

There  was  hot  blood  in  him  also,  thought  Dan, 
as  he  looked  at  him  —  and  yet  of  all  the  men  that  he 
had  ever  known  he  would  have  called  the  Governor 
the  most  humane. 

"  I  dare  say  —  I'll  get  used  to  it,  sir,"  he  an- 
swered.   "  Yes,  it  was  a  glorious  victory." 

He  broke  away  and  went  off  into  the  twilight 
over  the  wide  meadow  to  the  little  wayside  spring. 
Across  the  road  there  was  a  field  of  clover,  where  a 
few  campfires  twinkled,  and  he  hastened  toward  it 
eager  to  lie  down  in  the  darkness  and  fall  asleep. 
As  his  feet  sank  in  the  moist  earth,  he  looked  down 
and  saw  that  the  little  purple  flower  was  still  bloom- 
ing in  the  mud. 


IV 


AFTER   THE    BATTLE 

The  field  of  trampled  clover  looked  as  if  a  wind- 
storm had  swept  over  it,  strewing  the  contents  of  a 
dozen  dismantled  houses.  There  were  stacks  of 
arms  and  piles  of  cooking  utensils,  knapsacks,  half 
emptied,  lay  beside  the  charred  remains  of  fires,  and 
loose  fence  rails  showed  red  and  white  glimpses  of 
playing  cards,  hidden,  before  the  fight,  by  super- 
stitious soldiers. 

Groups  of  men  were  scattered  in  dark  spots  over 
the  field,  and  about  them  stragglers  drifted  slowly 
back  from  the  road  to  Centreville.  There  was  no 
discipline,  no  order  —  regiment  was  mixed  with 
regiment,  and  each  man  was  hopelessly  inquiring 
for  his  lost  company. 

As  Dan  stepped  over  the  fallen  fence  upon  the 
crushed  pink  heads  of  the  clover,  he  came  upon  a 
circle  of  privates  making  merry  over  a  lunch  basket 
they  had  picked  up  on  the  turnpike  —  a  basket 
brought  by  one  of  the  Washington  parties  who  had 
gayly  driven  out  to  watch  the  battle.  A  broken  fence 
rail  was  ablaze  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  and  as  the 
red  light  fell  on  each  soiled  and  unshaven  face,  it 
stood  out  grotesquely  from  the  surrounding  gloom. 
Some  were  slightly  wounded,  some  had  merely 
scented  the  battle  from  behind  the  hill  —  all  were 

316 


After  the  Battle  317 

drinking  rare  wine  in  honour  of  the  early  ending  of 
the  war.  As  Dan  looked  past  them  over  the  darken- 
ing meadow,  where  the  returning  soldiers  drifted 
aimlessly  across  the  patches  of  red  light,  he  asked 
himself  almost  impatiently  if  this  were  the  pure  and 
patriotic  army  that  held  in  its  ranks  the  best  born  of 
the  South?  To  him,  standing  there,  it  seemed  but 
a  loosened  mass,  without  strength  and  without  co- 
hesion, a  mob  of  schoolboys  come  back  from  a  sham 
battle  on  the  college  green.  It  was  his  first  fight, 
and  he  did  not  know  that  what  he  looked  upon  was 
but  the  sure  result  of  an  easy  victory  upon  the  un- 
disciplined ardour  of  raw  troops  —  that  the  sinews 
of  an  army  are  wrought  not  by  a  single  trial,  but  by 
the  strain  of  prolonged  and  strenuous  endeavour. 

"  I  say,  do  you  reckon  they'll  lemme  go  home  ter- 
morrow  ?  "  inquired  a  slightly  wounded  man  in  the 
group  before  him.  "  Thar's  my  terbaccy  needs 
lookin'  arter  or  the  worms  'ull  eat  it  clean  up  'fo'  I 
git  thar."  He  shook  the  shaggy  hair  from  his  face, 
and  straightened  the  white  cotton  bandage  about  his 
chin.  On  the  right  side,  where  the  wound  was,  his 
thick  sandy  beard  had  been  cut  away,  and  the  out- 
standing tuft  on  his  left  cheek  gave  him  a  peculiarly 
ill-proportioned  look. 

"  Lordy !  I  tell  you  we  gave  it  ter  'em ! "  ex- 
claimed another  in  excited  jerks.  "Fight!  Wall, 
that's  what  I  call  fightin',  leastways  it's  put.  I 
declar'  I  reckon  I  hit  six  Yankees  plum  on  the  head 
with  the  butt  of  this  here  musket." 

He  paused  to  knock  the  head  off  a  champagne 
bottle,  and  lifting  the  broken  neck  to  his  lips  drained 
the  foaming  wine,  which  spilled  in  white  froth  upon 


318  The  Battle-Ground 

his  clothes.  His  face  was  red  in  the  firelight,  and 
when  he  spoke  his  words  rolled  like  marbles  from 
his  tongue.  Dan,  looking  at  him,  felt  a  curious  con- 
viction that  the  man  had  not  gone  near  enough  to 
the  guns  to  smell  the  powder. 

"  Wall,  it  may  be  so,  but  I  ain't  seed  you,"  re- 
turned the  first  speaker,  contemptuously,  as  he 
stroked  his  bandage.  "  I  was  thar  all  day  and  I 
ain't  seed  you  raise  no  special  dust." 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  claimin'  nothin'  special,"  put  in  the 
other,  discomfited. 

"  Six  is  a  good  many,  I  reckon,"  drawled  the 
wounded  man,  reflectively,  "  and  I  ain't  sayin'  I 
settled  six  on  'em  hand  to  hand  —  I  ain't  sayin' 
that."  He  spoke  with  conscious  modesty,  as  if  the 
smallness  of  his  assertion  was  equalled  only  by  the 
greatness  of  his  achievements.  "  I  ain't  sayin'  I 
settled  more'n  three  on  'em,  I  reckon." 

Dan  left  the  group  and  went  on  slowly  across  the 
field,  now  and  then  stumbling  upon  a  sleeper  who 
lay  prone  upon  the  trodden  clover,  obscured  by  the 
heavy  dusk:  The  mass  of  the  army  was  still  some- 
where on  the  long  road  —  only  the  exhausted,  the 
sickened,  or  the  unambitious  drifted  back  to  fall 
asleep  upon  the  uncovered  ground. 

As  Dan  crossed  the  meadow  he  drew  near  to  a 
knot  of  men  from  a  Kentucky  regiment,  gathered  in 
the  light  of  a  small  wood  fire,  and  recognizing  one 
of  them,  he  stopped  to  inquire  for  news  of  his  miss- 
ing friends. 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  know  your  sweetheart  on  a 
night  like  this,"  replied  the  man  he  knew  —  a  big 
handsome  fellow,  with  a  peculiar  richness  of  voice. 


After  the  Battle  319 

"  Find  a  hole,  Mont  joy,  and  go  to  sleep  in  it,  that's 
my  advice.    Were  you  much  cut  up?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Dan,  uneasily.  "  I'm 
trying  to  make  sure  that  we  were  not.  I  lost  the 
others  somewhere  on  the  road  —  a  horse  knocked 
me  down." 

"  Well,  if  this  is  to  be  the  last  battle,  I  shouldn't 
mind  a  scratch  myself,"  put  in  a  voice  from  the 
darkness,  "  even  if  it's  nothing  more  than  a  bruise 
from  a  horse's  hoof.  By  the  bye,  Mont  joy,  did  you 
see  the  way  Stuart  rode  down  the  Zouaves?  I  de- 
clare the  slope  looked  like  a  field  of  poppies  in  full 
bloom.  Your  cousin  was  in  that  charge,  I  believe, 
and  he  came  out  whole.    I  saw  him  afterwards." 

"  Oh,  the  cavalry  gets  the  best  of  everything," 
said  Dan,  with  a  sigh,  and  he  was  passing  on,  when 
Jack  Powell,  coming  out  of  the  darkness,  stumbled 
against  him,  and  broke  into  a  delighted  laugh. 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul,  Beau.  I  thought  you'd  run 
after  the  fleshpots  of  Washington !  "  His  face  was 
flushed  with  excitement  and  the  soft  curls  upon  his 
forehead  were  wet  and  dark.  Around  his  mouth 
there  was  a  black  stain  from  bitten  cartridges.  "  By 
George,  it  was  a  jolly  day,  wasn't  it,  old  man  ?  "  he 
added  warmly. 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  "  asked  Dan,  grasping 
his  arm  in  an  almost  frantic  pressure. 

"  The  others  ?  they're  all  right  —  all  except  poor 
Welch,  who  got  a  ball  in  his  thigh,  you  know. 
Did  you  see  him  when  he  was  taken  off  the  field? 
He  laughed  as  he  passed  me  and  shouted  back  that 
he  '  was  always  willing  to  spare  a  leg  or  two  to  the 
cause ! '  " 


320  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Where  are  you  off  to  ? "  inquired  Dan,  still 
grasping  his  arm. 

"  I  ?  oh,  I'm  on  the  scent  of  water.  I  haven't 
learned  to  sleep  dirty  yet,  which  Bland  says  is  a 
sign  I'm  no  soldier.  By  the  way,  your  darky,  Big 
Abel,  has  a  coffee-boiler  over  yonder  in  the  fence 
corner.  He's  been  tearing  his  wool  out  over  your 
absence;  you'd  better  ease  his  mind."  With  a 
laugh  and  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  plunged  into 
the  darkness,  and  Dan  made  his  way  slowly  to 
the  campfire,  which  twinkled  from  the  old  rail  fence. 
As  he  groped  toward  it  curses  sprang  up  like  mus- 
tard from  the  earth  beneath.  "  Get  off  my  leg,  and 
be  damned,"  growled  a  voice  under  his  feet.  "  Oh, 
this  here  ain't  no  pesky  jedgment  day,"  exclaimed 
another  just  ahead.  Without  answering  he  stepped 
over  the  dark  bodies,  and,  ten  minutes  later,  came 
upon  Big  Abel  waiting  patiently  beside  the  dying 
fire. 

At  sight  of  him  the  negro  leaped,  with  a  shout,  to 
his  feet ;  then,  recovering  himself,  hid  his  joy  be- 
neath an  accusing  mask. 

"  Dis  yer  coffee  hit's  done  'mos'  bile  away,"  he 
remarked  gloomily.  "  En  ef'n  it  don'  tase  like  hit 
oughter  tase,  'tain'  no  use  ter  tu'n  up  yo'  nose,  caze 
'tain'  de  faul'  er  de  coffee,  ner  de  faul'  er  me  nurr." 

"  How  are  you,  old  man  ?  "  asked  Bland,  turning 
over  in  the  shadow. 

"  Who's  there  ? "  responded  Dan,  as  he  peered 
from  the  light  into  the  obscurity. 

"  All  the  mess  except  Welch,  poor  devil.  Baker 
got  his  hair  singed  by  our  rear  line,  and  he  says 
he  thinks  it's  safer  to  mix  with  the  Yankee*  next 


After  the  Battle  321 

time.  Somebody  behind  him  shot  his  cowlick  clean 
off." 

"  Cowlick,  the  mischief !  "  retorted  Baker,  with- 
eringly.  "  Why,  my  scalp  is  as  bald  as  your  hand. 
The  fool  shaved  me  like  a  barber." 

"  It's  a  pity  he  didn't  aim  at  your  whiskers,"  was 
Dan's  rejoinder.  "  The  chief  thing  I've  got  against 
this  war  is  that  when  it's  over  there  won't  be  a 
smooth-shaven  man  in  the  South." 

"  Oh,  we'll  stand  them  up  before  our  rear  line," 
suggested  Baker,  moodily.  "  You  may  laugh, 
Bland,  but  you  wouldn't  like  it  yourself,  and  if  they 
keep  up  their  precious  marksmanship  your  turn  will 
come  yet.  We'll  be  a  regiment  of  baldheads  before 
Christmas." 

Dan  sat  down  upon  the  blanket  Big  Abel  had 
spread  and  leaned  heavily  upon  his  knapsack,  which 
the  negro  had  picked  up  on  the  roadside.  A  ner- 
vous chill  had  come  over  him  and  he  was  shaking 
with  icy  starts  from  head  to  foot.  Big  Abel  brought 
a  cup  of  coffee,  and  as  he  took  it  from  him,  his  hand 
quivered  so  that  he  set  the  cup  upon  the  ground; 
then  he  lifted  it  and  drank  the  hot  coffee  in  long 
draughts. 

"  I  should  have  lost  my  very  identity  but  for  you, 
Big  Abel,"  he  observed  gratefully,  as  he  glanced 
round  at  the  property  the  negro  had  protected. 

Big  Abel  leaned  forward  and  stirred  the  ashes 
with  a  small  stick. 

"  En  I  done  fit  fer  'em,  sun,"  he  replied.  "  I  des 
tell  you  all  de  fittin'  ain'  been  over  yonder  on  dat  ar 
hill  caze  I'se  done  fit  right  yer  in  dis  yer  fence 
conder,  en  I  ain'  fit  de  Yankees  nurr.    Lawd,  Lawd, 


322  The  Battle-Ground 

dese  yer  folks  es  is  been  a-sniffin'  roun'  my  pile  all 
day,  ain'  de  kinder  folks  Fse  used  ter,  caze  my  folks 
dey  don'  steal  w'at  don'  b'long  ter  'em,  en  dese  yer 
folks  dey  do.  Ole  Marster  steal  ?  Huh !  he  'ouldn't 
even  tech  a  chicken  dat  'uz  roos'in  in  his  own  yard. 
But  dese  yer  sodgers !  —  Why,  you  cyarn  tu'n  yo' 
eye  a  splinter  off  de  vittles  fo'  dey's  done  got  'em. 
Dey  poke  dey  han's  right  spang  in  de  fire  en  eat  de 
ashes  en  all." 

He  went  off  grumbling  to  lie  down  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, and  Dan  sat  thoughtfully  looking  into  the 
smouldering  fire.  Bland  and  Baker,  having  heat- 
edly discussed  the  details  of  the  victory,  had  at  last 
drifted  into  silence ;  only  Pinetop  was  awake  —  this 
he  learned  from  the  odour  of  the  corncob  pipe  which 
floated  from  a  sheltered  corner. 

"  Come  over,  Pinetop,"  called  Dan,  cordially. 
"  and  let's  make  ready  for  the  pursuit  to-morrow. 
Why,  to-morrow  we  may  eat  a  civilized  dinner  in 
Washington  —  think  of  that !  " 

He  spoke  excitedly,  for  he  was  still  quivering 
from  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts.  There  was  no 
sleep  possible  for  him  just  now ;  his  limbs  twitched 
restlessly,  and  he  felt  the  prick  of  strong  emotion  in 
his  blood. 

"  I  say,  Pinetop,  what  do  you  think  of  the  fight  ?  " 
he  asked  with  an  embarrassed  boyish  eagerness.  In 
the  faint  light  of  the  fire  his  eyes  burned  like  coals 
and  there  was  a  thick  black  stain  around  his  mouth. 
The  hand  in  which  he  had  held  his  ramrod  was  of  a 
dark  rust  colour,  as  if  the  stain  of  the  battle  had 
seared  into  the  skin.  A  smell  of  hot  powder  still 
hung  about  his  clothes. 


After  the  Battle  322 

The  mountaineer  left  the  shadow  of  the  fence 
corner  and  slowly  dragged  himself  into  the  little 
glow,  where  he  sat  puffing  at  his  corncob  pipe.  He 
gave  an  easy,  sociable  nod  and  stared  silently  at  the 
embers. 

"  Was  it  just  what  you  imagined  it  would  be?" 
went  on  Dan,  curiously. 

Pinetop  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  nodded 
again.  "  Wall,  'twas  and  'twan't,"  he  answered 
pleasantly. 

"  I  must  say  it  made  me  sick,"  admitted  Dan, 
leaning  his  head  in  his  hand.  "  I've  always  been  a 
fool  about  the  smell  of  blood;  and  it  made  me 
downright  sick." 

"  Wall,  I  ain't  got  much  of  a  stomach  for  a  fight 
myself,"  returned  Pinetop,  reflectively.  "  You  see 
I  ain't  never  fought  anythin'  bigger'n  a  skunk  until 
to-day ;  and  when  I  stood  out  thar  with  them  bullets 
sizzlin'  like  fryin'  pans  round  my  head,  I  kind  of 
says  t  >  myself :  '  Look  here,  what's  all  this  fuss 
about  anyhow?  If  these  here  folks  have  come  arter 
the  niggers,  let  'em  take  'em  off  and  welcome.'  I 
ain't  never  owned  a  nigger  in  my  life,  and,  what's 
more,  I  ain't  never  seen  one  that's  worth  owning. 
'  Let  'em  take  'em  and  welcome,'  that's  what  I  said. 
Bless  your  life,  as  I  stood  out  thar  I  didn't  see  how 
I  was  goin'  to  fire  my  musket,  till  all  of  a  jiffy  a 
thought  jest  jumped  into  my  head  and  sent  me 
bangin'  down  that  hill.  '  Them  folks  have  set  thar 
feet  on  ole  Virginny,'  was  what  I  thought.  '  They've 
set  thar  feet  on  ole  Virginny,  and  they've  got  to 
take  'em  off  damn  quick ! '  " 

His  teeth  closed  over  his  pipe  as  if  it  were  a  car- 


324  The  Battle-Ground 

tridge;  then,  after  a  silent  moment,  he  opened  his 
mouth  and  spoke  again. 

"  What  I  can't  make  out  for  the  life  of  me,"  he 
said,  "  is  how  those  boys  from  the  other  states  gave 
thar  licks  so  sharp.  If  I'd  been  born  across  the  line 
in  Tennessee,  I  wouldn't  have  fired  my  musket  off 
to-day.  They  wan't  a-settin'  thar  feet  on  Tennessee. 
But  ole  Virginny  —  wall,  I've  got  a  powerful  fancy 
for  ole  Virginny,  and  they  ain't  goin'  to  project 
with  her  dust,  if  I  can  stand  between."  He  turned 
away,  and,  emptying  his  pipe,  rolled  over  upon  the 
ground. 

Dan  lay  down  upon  the  blanket,  and,  with  his 
hand  upon  his  knapsack,  gazed  at  the  small  red  em- 
ber burning  amid  the  ashes.  When  the  last  spark 
faded  into  blackness  it  was  as  if  his  thoughts  went 
groping  for  a  light.  Sleep  came  fitfully  in  flights 
and  pauses,  in  broken  dreams  and  brief  awakenings. 
Losing  himself  at  last  it  was  only  to  return  to  the 
woods  at  Chericoke  and  to  see  Betty  coming  to  him 
among  the  dim  blue  bodies  of  the  trees.  He  saw  the 
faint  sunshine  falling  upon  her  head  and  the  stir  of 
the  young  leaves  above  her  as  a  light  wind  passed. 
Under  her  feet  the  grass  was  studded  with  violets, 
and  the  bonnet  swinging  from  her  arm  was  filled 
with  purple  blossoms.  She  came  on  steadily  over 
the  path  of  grass  and  violets,  but  when  he  reached 
out  to  touch  her  a  great  shame  fell  over  him  for 
there  was  blood  upon  his  hand. 

There  was  something  cold  in  his  face,  and  he 
emerged  slowly  from  his  sleep  into  the  conscious- 
ness of  dawn  and  a  heavy  rain.  The  swollen  clouds 
hung  close  above  the  hills,  and  the  distance  was  ob- 


After  the  Battle  325 

scured  by  the  gray  sheets  of  water  which  fell  like  a 
curtain  from  heaven  to  earth.  Near  by  a  wagon  had 
drawn  up  in  the  night,  and  he  saw  that  a  group  0$ 
half-drenched  privates  had  already  taken  shelter 
between  the  wheels.  Gathering  up  his  oilcloth,  he 
hastily  formed  a  tent  with  the  aid  of  a  deep  fence 
corner,  and,  when  he  had  drawn  his  blanket  across 
the  opening,  sat  partly  protected  from  the  shower. 
As  the  damp  air  blew  into  his  face,  he  became 
quickly  and  clearly  awake,  and  it  was  with  the  glim- 
mer of  a  smile  that  he  looked  over  the  wet  meadow 
and  the  sleeping  regiments.  Then  a  shudder  fol- 
lowed, for  he  saw  in  the  lines  of  gray  men  stretched 
beneath  the  rain  some  likeness  to  that  other  field  be- 
yond the  hill  where  the  dead  were  still  lying,  row  on 
row.  He  saw  them  stark  and  cold  on  the  scorched 
grass  beside  the  guns,  or  in  the  thin  ridges  of 
trampled  corn,  where  the  gay  young  tassels  were 
now  storm-beaten  upon  the  ripped-up  earth.  He  saw 
them  as  he  had  seen  them  the  evening  before  —  not 
in  the  glow  of  battle,  but  with  the  acuteness  of  a 
brooding  sympathy  —  saw  them  frowning,  smiling, 
and  with  features  which  death  had  twisted  into  a 
ghastly  grin.  They  were  all  there  —  each  man  with 
open  eyes  and  stiff  hands  grasping  the  clothes  above 
his  wound. 

But  to  Dan,  sitting  in  the  gray  dawn  in  the  fence 
corner,  the  first  horror  faded  quickly  into  an  emo- 
tion almost  triumphant.  The  great  field  was  silent, 
reproachful,  filled  with  accusing  eyes  —  but  was  it 
not  filled  with  glory,  too?  He  was  young,  and  his 
weakened  pulses  quickened  at  the  thought.  Since 
men  must  die,  where  was  a  brighter  death  than  to 


326  The  Battle-Ground 

fall  beneath  the  flutter  of  the  colours,  with  the 
thunder  of  the  cannon  in  one's  ears  ?  He  knew  now 
why  his  fathers  had  loved  a  fight,  had  loved  the 
glitter  of  the  bayonets  and  the  savage  smell  of  the 
discoloured  earth. 

For  a  moment  the  old  racial  spirit  flashed  above 
the  peculiar  sensitiveness  which  had  come  to  him 
from  his  childhood  and  his  suffering  mother;  then 
the  flame  went  out  and  the  rows  of  dead  men  stared 
at  him  through  the  falling  rain  in  the  deserted  field. 


THE   WOMAN  S   PART 

At  sunrise  on  the  morning  of  the  battle  Betty 
and  Virginia,  from  the  whitewashed  porch  of  a 
little  railway  inn  near  Manassas,  watched  the  Gover- 
nor's regiment  as  it  marched  down  the  single  street 
and  into  the  red  clay  road.  Through  the  first  faint 
sunshine,  growing  deeper  as  the  sun  rose  gloriously 
above  the  hills,  there  sounded  a  peculiar  freshness 
in  the  martial  music  as  it  triumphantly  floated  back 
across  the  fields.  To  Betty  it  almost  seemed  that 
the  drums  were  laughing  as  they  went  to  battle; 
and  when  the  gay  air  at  last  faded  in  the  distance, 
the  silence  closed  about  her  with  a  strangeness  she 
had  never  felt  before  —  as  if  the  absence  of  sound 
was  grown  melancholy,  like  the  absence  of  light. 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  brought  back  the  long 
gray  line  passing  across  the  sunbeams :  the  tanned 
eager  faces,  the  waving  flags,  the  rapid,  almost  im- 
patient tread  of  the  men  as  they  swung  onward.  A 
laugh  had  run  along  the  column  as  it  went  by  her 
and  she  had  smiled  in  quick  sympathy  with  some 
foolish  jest.  It  was  all  so  natural  to  her,  the  gayety 
and  the  ardour  and  the  invincible  dash  of  the  young 
army  —  it  was  all  so  like  the  spirit  of  Dan  and  so 
iiear  to  her  because  of  the  likeness. 

3*7 


328  The  Battle-Ground 

Somewhere  —  not  far  away,  she  knew  —  he 
also  was  stepping  briskly  across  the  first  sun  rays, 
and  her  heart  followed  him  even  while  she  smiled 
down  upon  the  regiment  before  her.  It  was  as  if 
her  soul  were  suddenly  freed  from  her  bodily 
presence,  and  in  a  kind  of  dual  consciousness  she 
seemed  to  be  standing  upon  the  little  whitewashed 
porch  and  walking  onward  beside  Dan  at  the  same 
moment.  The  wonder  of  it  glowed  in  her  rapt  face, 
and  Virginia,  turning  to  put  some  trivial  question, 
was  startled  by  the  passion  of  her  look. 

"  Have  —  have  you  seen  —  some  one,  Betty  ?  " 
she  whispered. 

The  charm  was  snapped  and  Betty  fell  back  into 
time  and  place. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  seen  —  some  one,"  her  voice 
thrilled  as  she  spoke.  "  I  saw  him  as  clearly  as  I 
see  you ;  he  was  all  in  sunshine  and  there  was  a 
flag  close  above  his  head.  He  looked  up  and  smiled 
at  me.    Yes,  I  saw  him !    I  saw  him !  " 

"  It  was  Dan,"  said  Virginia  —  not  as  a  question, 
but  in  a  wondering  assent.  "  Why,  Betty,  I  thought 
you  had  forgotten  Dan  —  papa  thought  so,  too." 

"  Forgotten !  "  exclaimed  Betty  scornfully.  She 
fell  away  from  the  crowd  and  Virginia  followed  her. 
The  two  stood  leaning  against  the  whitewashed 
wall  in  the  dust  that  still  rose  from  the  street. 
*  So  you  thought  I  had  forgotten  him,"  said  Betty 
again.  She  raised  her  hand  to  her  bosom  and 
crushed  the  lace  upon  her  dress.  "  Well,  you  were 
wrong,"  she  added  quietly. 

Virginia  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  '  I  am  almost 
glad,"  she  answered  in  her  sweet  girlish  yoke.    "I 


The  Woman's  Part  329 

don't  like  to  have  Dan  forgotten  even  if  —  if  he 
ought  to  be." 

"  I  didn't  love  him  because  he  ought  to  be 
loved,"  said  Betty.  "  I  loved  him  because  I  couldn't 
help  it  —  because  he  was  himself  and  I  was  my- 
self, I  suppose.  I  was  born  to  love  him,  and  to 
stop  loving  him  I  should  have  to  be  born  again.  I 
don't  care  what  he  does  —  I  don't  care  what  he  is 
even  —  I  would  rather  love  him  than  —  than  be 
a  queen."  She  held  her  hands  tightly  together.  "  I 
would  be  his  servant  if  he  would  let  me,"  she  went 
on.  "  I  would  work  for  him  like  a  slave  —  but  he 
won't  let  me.  And  yet  he  does  love  me  just  the 
same  —  just  the  same." 

"  He  does  —  he  does,"  admitted  Virginia  softly. 
She  had  never  seen  Betty  like  this  before,  and  she 
felt  that  her  sister  had  become  suddenly  very  strange 
and  very  sacred.  Her  hands  were  outstretched  to 
comfort,  but  Betty  turned  gently  away  from  her  and 
went  up  the  narrow  staircase  to  the  bare  little  room 
where  the  girls  slept  together. 

Alone  within  the  four  white  walls  she  moved 
breathlessly  to  and  fro  like  a  woodland  creature  that 
has  been  entrapped.  At  the  moment  she  was  telling 
herself  that  she  wanted  to  keep  onward  with  the 
army;  then  her  courage  would  have  fluttered  up- 
ward like  the  flags.  It  was  not  the  sound  of  the 
cannon  that  she  dreaded,  nor  the  sight  of  blood  — 
these  would  have  nerved  her  as  they  nerved  the  gen- 
erations at  her  back  —  but  the  folded  hands  and  the 
terrible  patience  that  are  the  woman's  share  of  a 
war.  The  old  fighting  blood  was  in  her  veins  —  she 
was  as  much  the  child  of  her  father  as  a  son  could 


330  The  Battle-Ground 

have  been  —  and  yet  while  the  great  world  over 
there  was  filled  with  noise  she  was  told  to  go  into 
her  room  and  pray.  Pray!  Why,  a  man  might 
pray  with  his  musket  in  his  hand,  that  was  worth 
while. 

In  the  adjoining  room  she  saw  her  mother  sitting 
in  a  square  of  sunlight  with  her  open  Bible  on  her 
knees. 

"  Oh,  speak,  mamma ! "  she  called  half  angrily. 
"  Move,  do  anything  but  sit  so  still.  I  can't  bear  it !  " 
She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  for  with  her  words 
a  low  sound  like  distant  thunder  filled  the  room  and 
the  little  street  outside.  As  she  clung  with  both 
hands  to  the  window  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  gray 
haze  had  fallen  over  the  sunny  valley.  "  Some  one 
is  dead,"  she  said  almost  calmly,  "  that  killed  how 
many  ?  " 

The  room  stifled  her  and  she  ran  hurriedly  down 
into  the  street,  where  a  few  startled  women  and 
old  men  had  rushed  at  the  first  roll  of  the  cannon. 
As  she  stood  among  them,  straining  her  eyes  from 
end  to  end  of  the  little  village,  her  heart  beat  in 
her  throat  and  she  could  only  quaver  out  an  appeal 
for  news. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  Doesn't  any  one  know  anything  ? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  a  battle,  Miss,  that's  one  thing,"  re- 
marked on  obliging  by-stander  who  leaned  heavily 
upon  a  wooden  leg.  "  Bless  you,  I  kin  a'most  taste 
the  powder."  He  smacked  his  lips  and  spat  into  the 
dust.  "  To  think  that  I  went  all  the  way  down  to 
Mexico  fur  a  fight,"  he  pursued  regretfully,  "  when 
V  could  have  set  right  here  at  home  and  had  it  all 


The  Woman's  Part  331 

in  old  Virginny.  Well,  well,  that  comes  of  hurryin' 
the  Lord  afo'  he's  ready." 

He  rambled  on  excitedly,  but  Betty,  frowning 
with  impatience,  turned  from  him  and  walked 
rapidly  up  and  down  the  single  street,  where  the 
voices  of  the  guns  growled  through  the  muffling 
distance.  "That  killed  how  many?  how  many?" 
she  would  say  at  each  long  roll,  and  again,  "  How 
many  died  that  moment,  and  was  one  Dan  ?  " 

Up  and  down  the  little  village,  through  the 
heavy  sunshine  and  the  white  dust,  among  the 
whimpering  women  and  old  men,  she  walked  until 
the  day  wore  on  and  the  shadows  grew  longer 
across  the  street.  Once  a  man  had  come  with  the 
news  of  a  sharp  repulse,  and  in  the  early  afternoon 
a  deserter  straggled  in  with  the  cry  that  the  enemy 
was  marching  upon  the  village.  It  was  not  until 
the  night  had  fallen,  when  the  wounded  began  to 
arrive  on  baggage  trains,  that  the  story  of  the  day 
was  told,  and  a  single  shout  went  up  from  the  wait- 
ing groups.  The  Confederacy  was  established! 
Washington  was  theirs  by  right  of  arms,  and  to- 
morrow the  young  army  would  dictate  terms  of 
peace  to  a  great  nation !  The  flags  waved,  women 
wept,  and  the  wounded  soldiers,  as  they  rolled  in  on 
baggage  cars,  were  hailed  as  the  deliverers  of  a 
people.  The  new  Confederacy!  An  emotion  half 
romantic,  half  maternal  filled  Betty  as  she  bent  above 
an  open  wound  —  for  it  was  in  her  blood  to  do  bat- 
tle to  the  death  for  a  belief,  to  throw  herself  into  a 
cause  as  into  the  arms  of  a  lover.  She  was  made  of 
the  stuff  of  soldiers,  and  come  what  might  she 
would  always  take  her  stand  upon  her  people's  side. 


33*  The  Battle-Ground 

There  were  cheers  and  sobs  in  the  little  street 
about  her;  in  the  distance  a  man  was  shouting-  for 
the  flag,  and  nearer  by  a  woman  with  a  lantern 
in  her  hand  was  searching  among  the  living  for  her 
dead.  The  joy  and  the  anguish  of  it  entered  into  the 
girl  like  wine.  She  felt  her  pulses  leap  and  a  vigour 
that  was  not  her  own  nerved  her  from  head  to 
foot.  With  that  power  of  ardent  sacrifice  which 
lies  beneath  all  shams  in  the  Southern  heart, 
she  told  herself  that  no  endurance  was  too 
great,  no  hope  too  large  with  which  to  serve 
the  cause. 

The  exaltation  was  still  with  her  when,  a  little 
later,  she  went  up  to  her  room  and  knelt  down  to 
thank  God.  Her  people's  simple  faith  was  hers 
also,  and  as  she  prayed  with  her  brow  on  her  clasped 
hands  it  was  as  if  she  gave  thanks  to  some  great 
warrior  who  had  drawn  his  sword  in  defence  of 
the  land  she  loved.  God  was  on  her  side,  supreme, 
beneficent,  watchful  in  little  things,  as  He  has  been 
on  the  side  of  all  fervent  hearts  since  the  beginning 
of  time. 

But  after  her  return  to  Uplands  in  midsummer 
she  suffered  a  peculiar  restlessness  from  the  tran- 
quil August  weather.  The  long  white  road  irri- 
tated her  with  its  aspect  of  listless  patience,  and  at 
times  she  wanted  to  push  back  the  crowding  hills 
and  leave  the  horizon  open  to  her  view.  When  a 
squadron  of  cavalry  swept  along  the  turnpike  her 
heart  would  follow  it  like  a  bird  while  she  leaned, 
with  straining  eyes,  against  a  great  white  column. 
Then,  as  the  last  rider  was  blotted  out  into  the  land- 
scape, she  would  clasp  her  hands  and  walk  rapidly 


The  Woman's  Part  233 

up  and  down  between  the  lilacs.  It  was  all  waiting 
—  waiting  —  waiting  —  nothing  else. 

"  Something  must  happen,  mamma,  or  I  shall  go 
mad,"  she  said  one  day,  breaking  in  upon  Mrs.  Am- 
bler as  she  sorted  a  heap  of  old  letters  in  the  library. 

"But  what?  What?"  asked  Virginia  from  the 
shadow  of  the  window  seat.  "  Surely  you  don't 
want  a  battle,  Betty  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ambler  shuddered. 

"  Don't  tempt  Providence,  dear,"  she  said  seri- 
ously, untying  a  faded  ribbon  about  a  piece  of  old 
parchment.  "  Be  grateful  for  just  this  calm  and 
go  out  for  a  walk.  You  might  take  this  pitcher 
of  flaxseed  tea  to  Floretta's  cabin,  if  you've  noth- 
ing else  to  do.  Ask  how  the  baby  is  to-day,  and 
tell  her  to  keep  the  red  flannel  warm  on  its  chest." 

Betty  went  into  the  hall  after  her  bonnet  and 
came  back  for  the  pitcher.  "  I'm  going  to  walk 
across  the  fields  to  Chericoke,"  she  said,  "  and 
Hosea  is  to  bring  the  carriage  for  me  about  sunset. 
We  must  have  some  white  silk  to  make  those  flags 
out  of,  and  there  isn't  a  bit  in  the  house." 

She  went  out,  stepping  slowly  in  her  wide  skirts 
and  holding  the  pitcher  carefully  before  her. 

Floretta's  baby  was  sleeping,  and  after  a  few 
pleasant  words  the  girl  kept  on  to  Chericoke. 
There  she  found  that  the  Major  had  gone  to  town 
for  news,  leaving  Mrs.  Lightfoot  to  her  pickle 
making  in  the  big  storeroom,  where  the  earthen- 
ware jars  stood  in  clean  brown  rows  upon  the 
shelves.  The  air  was  sharp  with  the  smell  of  vine- 
gar and  spices,  and  fragrant  moisture  dripped  from 
the  old  lady's  delicate  hands.    At  the  moment  she 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 15 


334  The  Battle- Ground 

had  forgotten  the  war  just  beyond  her  doors,  and 
even  the  vacant  places  in  her  household;  her  ner- 
vous flutter  was  caused  by  finding  the  plucked  corn 
too  large  to  salt. 

"  Come  in,  child,  come  in,"  she  said,  as  Betty 
appeared  in  the  doorway.  "  You're  too  good  a 
housekeeper  to  mind  the  smell  of  brine." 

"  How  the  soldiers  will  enjoy  it,"  laughed  Betty 
in  reply.  "  It's  fortunate  that  both  sides  are  fond 
of  spices." 

The  old  lady  was  tying  a  linen  cloth  over  the 
mouth  of  a  great  brown  jar,  and  she  did  not  look 
up  as  she  answered.  "  I'm  not  consulting  their 
tastes,  my  dear,  though,  as  for  that,  I'm  willing 
enough  to  feast  our  own  men  so  long  as  the 
Yankees  keep  away.  This  jar,  by  the  bye,  is  filled 
with  '  Confederate  pickle '  —  it  was  as  little  as  I 
could  do  to  compliment  the  Government,  I  thought, 
and  the  green  tomato  catchup  I've  named  in  honour 
of  General  Beauregard." 

Betty  smiled;  and  then,  while  Mrs.  Lightfoot 
stood  sharply  regarding  Car'line,  who  was  shuck- 
ing a  tray  of  young  corn,  she  timidly  began  upon 
her  mission.  ."  The  flags  must  be  finished,  and  I 
can't  find  the  silk,"  she  pleaded.  "  Isn't  there  a 
scrap  in  the  house  I  may  have?  Let  me  look  about 
the  attic." 

The  old  lady  shook  her  head.  "  I  haven't  allowed 
anybody  to  set  foot  in  my  attic  for  forty  years,"  she 
replied  decisively.  "  Why,  I'd  almost  as  soon 
they'd  step  into  my  grandfather's  vault."  Then 
as  Betty's  face  fell  she  added  generously.  "  As  for 
white  silk,  I  haven't  any  except  my  wedding  dress, 


The  Woman's  Part  23  S 

and  that's  yellow  with  age ;  but  you  may  take  it  if 
you  want  it.  I'm  sure  it  couldn't  come  to  a  better 
end;  at  least  it  will  have  been  to  the  front  upon 
two  important  occasions." 

"  Your  wedding  dress !  "  exclaimed  Betty  in  sur- 
prise, "  oh,  how  could  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  smiled  grimly. 

"  I  could  give  more  than  a  wedding  dress  if  the 
Confederacy  called  for  it,  my  dear,"  she  answered. 
"  Indeed,  I'm  not  perfectly  sure  that  I  couldn't 
give  the  Major  himself  —  but  go  upstairs  and  wait 
for  me  while  I  send  Car'line  for  the  keys." 

She  returned  to  the  storeroom,  and  Betty  went 
upstairs  to  wander  leisurely  through  the  cool 
faintly  lighted  chambers.  They  were  all  newly 
swept  and  scented  with  lavender,  and  the  high  tes- 
ter beds,  with  their  slender  fluted  posts,  looked 
as  if  they  had  stood  spotless  and  untouched  for 
generations.  In  Dan's  room,  which  had  been  his 
mother's  also,  the  girl  walked  slowly  up  and  down, 
meeting,  as  she  passed,  her  own  eyes  in  the  dark- 
ened mirror.  Her  mind  fretted  with  the  thought 
that  Dan's  image  had  risen  so  often  in  the  glass, 
and  yet  had  left  no  hint  for  her  as  she  looked  in 
now.  If  it  had  only  caught  and  held  his  reflection, 
that  blank  mirror,  she  could  have  found  it,  she  felt 
sure,  though  a  dozen  faces  had  passed  by  since. 
Was  there  nothing  left  of  him,  she  wondered,  noth- 
ing in  the  place  where  he  had  lived  his  life?  She 
turned  to  the  bed  and  picked  up,  one  by  one,  the 
scattered  books  upon  the  little  table.  Among  them 
there  was  a  copy  of  the  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  and  as 
it  fell  open  in  her  hand,  she  found  a  bit  of  her  own 


336  The  Battle-Ground 

blue  ribbon  between  the  faded  leaves.  A  tremor 
ran  through  her  limbs,  and  going  to  the  window 
she  placed  the  book  upon  the  sill  and  read  the  words 
aloud  in  the  fragrant  stillness.  Behind  her  in  the 
dim  room  Dan  seemed  to  rise  as  suddenly  as  a 
ghost  —  and  that  high-flown  chivalry  of  his,  which 
delighted  in  sounding  phrases  as  in  heroic  virtues, 
was  loosened  from  the  leaves  of  the  old  romance. 

"  For  there  was  never  worshipful  man  nor  wor- 
shipful woman  but  they  loved  one  better  than  an- 
other, and  worship  in  arms  may  never  be  foiled ; 
but  first  reserve  the  honour  to  God,  and  secondly 
the  quarrel  must  come  of  thy  lady;  and  such  love 
I  call  virtuous  love." 

She  leaned  her  cheek  upon  the  book  and  looked 
out  dreamily  into  the  green  box  mazes  of  the  gar- 
den. In  the  midst  of  war  a  great  peace  had  come 
to  her,  and  the  quiet  summer  weather  no  longer 
troubled  her  with  its  unbroken  calm.  Her  heart 
had  grown  suddenly  strong  again ;  even  the  long 
waiting  had  become  but  a  fit  service  for  her  love. 

There  was  a  step  in  the  hall  and  Mrs.  Lightfoot 
rustled  in  with  her  wedding  dress. 

"  You  may  take  it  and  welcome,  child,"  she  said, 
as  she  gave  it  into  Betty's  arms.  "  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing that  there  was  something  providential  in  my 
selecting  white  when  my  taste  always  leaned  toward 
a  peach-blow  brocade.  Well,  well,  who  would  have 
believed  that  I  was  buying  a  flag  as  well  as  a  frock  ? 
If  I'd  even  hinted  such  a  thing,  they  would  have 
said  I  had  the  vapours." 

Betty  accepted  the  gift  with  her  pretty  effusion 
of  manner,  and  went  downstairs  to  where  Hosea  was 


The  Woman's  Part  337 

waiting  for  her  with  the  big  carriage.  As  she  drove 
home  in  a  happy  revery,  her  eyes  dwelt  contentedly 
on  the  sunburnt  August  fields,  and  the  thought  of 
war  did  not  enter  in  to  disturb  her  dreams. 

Once  a  line  of  Confederate  cavalrymen  rode  by  at 
a  gallop  and  saluted  her  as  her  face  showed  at  the 
window.  They  were  strangers  to  her,  but  with  the 
peculiar  feeling  of  kinship  which  united  the  people 
of  the  South,  she  leaned  out  to  wish  them  "  God 
speed  "  as  she  waved  her  handkerchief. 

When,  a  little  later,  she  turned  into  the  drive  at 
Uplands,  it  was  to  find,  from  the  prints  upon  the 
gravel,  that  the  soldiers  had  been  there  before  her. 
Beyond  the  Doric  columns  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  gray  sleeve,  and  for  a  single  instant  a  wild  hope 
shot  up  within  her  heart.  Then  as  the  carriage 
stopped,  and  she  sprang  quickly  to  the  ground,  the 
man  in  gray  came  out  upon  the  portico,  and  she 
saw  that  it  was  Jack  Morson. 

"  I've  come  for  Virginia,  Betty,"  he  began  im- 
pulsively, as  he  took  her  hand,  "  and  she  promises 
to  marry  me  before  the  battle." 

Betty  laughed  with  trembling  lips.  "  And  here  is 
the  dress,"  she  said  gayly,  holding  out  the  yellowed 
silk. 


VT 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO    ROMNEY 

After  a  peaceful  Christmas,  New  Year's  Day 
rose  bright  and  mild,  and  Dan  as  he  started  from 
Winchester  with  the  column  felt  that  he  was  escap- 
ing to  freedom  from  the  tedious  duties  of  camp 
life. 

"  Thank  God  we're  on  the  war-path  again,"  he 
remarked  to  Pinetop,  who  was  stalking  at  his  side. 
The  two  had  become  close  friends  during  the  dull 
weeks  after  their  first  battle,  and  Bland,  who  had 
brought  a  taste  for  the  classics  from  the  lecture- 
room,  had  already  referred  to  them  in  pointless  jokes 
as  "  Pylades  and  Orestes." 

"  It  looks  mighty  like  summer,"  responded  Pine- 
top  cheerfully.  He  threw  a  keen  glance  up  into  the 
blue  clouds,  and  then  sniffed  suspiciously  at  the 
dust  that  rose  high  in  the  road.  "  But  I  ain't  one  to 
put  much  faith  in  looks,"  he  added  with  his  usual 
caution,  as  he  shifted  the  knapsack  upon  his  shoul- 
ders. 

Dan  laughed  easily.  "  Well,  I'm  heartily  glad  I 
left  my  overcoat  behind  me,"  he  said,  breathing 
hard  as  he  climbed  the  mountain  road,  where  the 
red  clay  had  stiffened  into  channels. 

The  sunshine  fell  brightly  over  them,  lying  in 
golden  drops  upon  the  fallen  leaves.    To  Dan  the 

3*8 


On  the  Road  to  Romney  339 

march  brought  back  the  early  winter  rides  at  Cheri- 
coke,  and  the  chain  of  lights  and  shadows  that  ran 
on  clear  days  over  the  tavern  road.  Joyously  throw- 
ing back  his  head,  he  whistled  a  love  song  as  he 
tramped  up  the  mountain  side.  The  irksome  sum- 
mer, with  its  slow  fevers  and  its  sharp  attacks  of 
measles,  its  scarcity  of  pure  water  and  supplies  of 
half -cooked  food,  was  suddenly  blotted  from  his 
thoughts,  and  his  first  romantic  ardour  returned 
to  him  in  long  draughts  of  wind  and  sun.  After 
each  depression  his  elastic  temperament  had  sprung 
upward ;  the  past  months  had  but  strengthened  him 
in  body  as  in  mind. 

In  the  afternoon  a  gray  cloud  came  up  suddenly 
and  the  sunshine,  after  a  feeble  struggle,  was  driven 
from  the  mountains.  As  the  wind  blew  in  short 
gusts  down  the  steep  road,  Dan  tightened  his  coat 
and  looked  at  Pinetop's  knapsack  with  his  unfailing 
laugh. 

"  That's  beginning  to  look  comfortable.  I  hope 
to  heaven  the  wagons  aren't  far  off." 

Pinetop  turned  and  glanced  back  into  the  valley. 
"  I'll  be  blessed  if  I  believe  they're  anywhere,"  was 
his  answer. 

"  Well,  if  they  aren't,  I'll  be  somewhere  before 
morning;    why,  it  feels  like  snow." 

A  gust  of  wind,  sharp  as  a  blade,  struck  from  the 
gray  sky,  and  whirlpools  of  dead  leaves  were  swept 
into  the  forest.  Falling  silent,  Dan  swung  his  arms 
to  quicken  the  current  of  his  blood,  and  walked 
on  more  rapidly.  Over  the  long  column  gloom 
had.  settled  with  the  clouds,  and  they  were  brave 
lips  that  offered  a  jest  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind. 


34°  The  Battle-Ground 

There  were  no  blankets,  few  overcoats,  and  fewef 
rations,  and  the  supply  wagons  were  crawling  some- 
where in  the  valley. 

The  day  wore  on,  and  still  the  rough  country 
road  climbed  upward  embedded  in  withered  leaves. 
On  the  high  wind  came  the  first  flakes  of  a  snow- 
storm, followed  by  a  fine  rain  that  enveloped  the 
hills  like  mist.  As  Dan  stumbled  on,  his  feet  slipped 
on  the  wet  clay,  and  he  was  forced  to  catch  at 
the  bared  saplings  for  support.  The  cold  had  en- 
tered his  lungs  as  a  knife,  and  his  breath  circled 
in  a  little  cloud  about  his  mouth.  Through  the 
storm  he  heard  the  quick  oaths  of  his  companions 
ring  out  like  distant  shots. 

When  night  fell  they  halted  to  bivouac  by  the 
roadside,  and  until  daybreak  the  pine  woods  were 
filled  with  the  cheerful  glow  of  the  campfires. 
There  were  no  rations,  and  Dan,  making  a  jest 
of  his  hunger,  had  stretched  himself  in  the  full  light 
of  the  crackling  branches.  With  the  defiant  humour 
which  had  made  him  the  favourite  of  the  mess,  he 
laughed  at  the  frozen  roads,  at  the  change  in  the 
wind,  at  his  own  struggles  with  the  wet  kindling 
wood,  at  the  supply  wagons  creeping  slowly  after 
them.  His  courage  had  all  the  gayety  of  his  pas- 
sions —  it  showed  itself  in  a  smile,  in  a  whistle,  in 
the  steady  hand  with  which  he  played  toss  and 
catch  with  fate.  The  superb  silence  of  Pinetop, 
plodding  evenly  along,  was  as  far  removed  from 
him  as  the  lofty  grandeur  of  the  mountains.  A 
jest  warmed  his  heart  against  the  cold;  with  set 
lips  and  grave  eyes,  he  would  have  fallen  before  the 
next  ridge  was  crossed. 


On  the  Road  to  Romney  341 

Through  the  woods  other  fires  were  burning,  and 
long  reddish  shadows  crept  among  the  pine  trees 
over  the  rotting  mould.  For  warmth  Dan  had 
spread  a  covering  of  dried  leaves  over  him,  raking 
them  from  sheltered  corners  of  the  forest.  When 
he  rose  from  time  to  time  during  the  night  to  take 
his  turn  at  replenishing  the  fire  the  leaves  drifted 
in  gravelike  mounds  about  his  feet. 

For  three  days  the  march  was  steadily  upward 
over  long  ridges  coated  deep  with  ice.  In  the 
face  of  the  strong  wind,  which  blew  always  down 
the  steep  road,  the  army  passed  on,  complaining, 
cursing,  asking  a  gigantic  question  of  its  General. 
Among  the  raw  soldiers  there  had  been  desertions 
by  the  dozen,  filling  the  streets  of  the  little  town 
with  frost-bitten  malcontents.  "  It  was  all  a  wild 
goose  chase,"  they  declared  bitterly,  "  and  if  Old 
Jack  wasn't  a  March  hare  —  well,  he  was  some- 
thing madder ! " 

Dan  listened  to  the  curses  with  his  ready  smile, 
and  walked  on  bravely.  Since  the  first  evening 
he  had  uttered  no  complaint,  asked  no  question. 
He  had  undertaken  to  march,  and  he  meant  to 
march,  that  was  all.  In  the  front  with  which  he 
veiled  his  suffering  there  was  no  lessening  of  his 
old  careless  confidence  —  if  his  dash  had  hardened 
into  endurance  it  wore  still  an  expression  that  was 
almost  debonair. 

So  as  the  column  straggled  weakly  upward,  he 
wrung  his  stiffened  fingers  and  joked  with  Jack 
Powell,  who  stumbled  after  him.  The  cold  had 
brought  a  glow  to  his  tanned  face,  and  when  he 
lifted  his  eyes  from  the  road  Pinetop  saw  that  they 


342  The  Battle -Ground 

were  shining  brightly.  Once  he  slipped  on  the! 
frozen  mud,  and  as  his  musket  dropped  from  his 
hand,  it  went  off  sharply,  the  load  entering  the 
ground. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  asked  Jack,  springing  toward 
him ;  but  Dan  looked  round  laughing  as  he  clasped 
his  knee. 

"  Oh,  I  merely  groaned  because  I  might  have 
been,"  he  said  lightly,  and  limped  on,  singing  a  bit 
of  doggerel  which  had  taken  possession  of  his  regi- 
ment. 

"  Then  let  the  Yanks  say  what  they  will. 
We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still; 
Gay  and  happy,  gay  and  happy, 
We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still." 

On  the  third  day  out  they  reached  a  little  village 
in  the  mountains,  but  before  the  week's  end  they 
had  pushed  on  again,  and  the  white  roads  still 
stretched  before  them.  As  they  went  higher  the 
tracks  grew  steeper,  and  now  and  then  a  musket 
shot  rang  out  on  the  roadside  as  a  man  lost  his 
footing  and  went  down  upon  the  ice.  Behind  them 
the  wagon  train  crept  inch  by  inch,  or  waited 
patiently  for  hours  while  a  wheel  was  hoisted  from 
the  ditch  beside  the  road.  There  was  blood  on  the 
muzzles  of  the  horses  and  on  the  shining  ice  that 
stretched  beyond  them. 

To  Dan  these  terrible  days  were  as  the  anguish 
of  a  new  birth,  in  which  the  thing  to  be  born"  suf- 
fered the  conscious  throes  of  awakening  life.  He 
could  never  be  the  same  again ;  something  was  al- 
tered in  him  forever;  this  he  felt  dimly  as  he 
dragged  his  aching  body  onward.    Days  like  these 


On  the  Road  to  Romney  343 

would  prove  the  stuff  that  had  gone  into  the  making 
of  him.  When  the  march  to  Romney  lay  behind 
him  he  should  know  himself  to  be  either  a  soldier  or 
a  coward.  A  soldier  or  a  coward !  he  said  the  words 
over  again  as  he  struggled  to  keep  down  the  pangs 
of  hunger,  telling  himself  that  the  road  led  not 
merely  to  Romney,  but  to  a  greater  victory  than  his 
General  dreamed  of.  Romney  might  be  worthless, 
after  all,  the  grim  march  but  a  mad  prank  of  Jack- 
son's, as  men  said;  but  whether  to  lay  down  one's 
arms  or  to  struggle  till  the  end  was  reached,  this 
was  the  question  asked  by  those  stern  mountains. 
Nature  stood  ranged  against  him  —  he  fought  it 
step  by  step,  and  day  by  day. 

At  times  something  like  delirium  seized  him, 
and  he  went  on  blindly,  stepping  high  above  the 
ice.  For  hours  he  was  tortured  by  the  longing  for 
raw  beef,  for  the  fresh  blood  that  would  put  heat 
into  his  veins.  The  kitchen  at  Chericoke  flamed 
upon  the  hillside,  as  he  remembered  it  on  winter 
evenings  when  the  great  chimney  was  filled  with 
light  and  the  crane  was  in  its  place  above  the  hick- 
ory. The  smell  of  newly  baked  bread  floated  in  his 
nostrils,  and  for  a  little  while  he  believed  himself  to 
be  lying  again  upon  the  hearth  as  he  thrilled  at  Aunt 
Rhody's  stories.  Then  his  fancies  would  take  other 
shapes,  and  warm  colours  would  glow  in  red  and 
yellow  circles  before  his  eyes.  When  he  thought  of 
Betty  now  it  was  no  longer  tenderly  but  with  a 
despairing  passion.  He  was  haunted  less  by  her 
visible  image  than  by  broken  dreams  of  her  peculiar 
womanly  beauties  —  of  her  soft  hands  and  the 
warmth  of  her  girlish  bosom. 


344  The  Battle-Ground 

But  from  the  first  day  to  the  last  he  had  no 
thought  of  yielding;  and  each  feeble  step  had  sent 
him  a  step  farther  upon  the  road.  He  had  often 
fallen,  but  he  had  always  struggled  up  again  and 
laughed.  Once  he  made  a  ghastly  joke  about  his 
dying  in  the  snow,  and  Jack  Powell  turned  upon  him 
with  an  oath  and  bade  him  to  be  silent. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't,"  added  the  boy  weakly, 
and  fell  to  whimpering  like  a  child. 

"  Oh,  go  home  to  your  mother,"  retorted  Dan, 
with  a  kind  of  desperate  cruelty. 

Jack  sobbed  outright. 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  he  answered,  and  dropped  over 
upon  the  roadside. 

Dan  caught  him  up,  and  poured  his  last  spoonful 
of  brandy  down  his  throat,  then  he  »eized  his  arm 
and  dragged  him  bodily  along. 

"  Oh,  I  say  don't  be  an  ass,"  he  implored.  "  Here 
comes  old  Stonewall." 

The  commanding  General  rode  by,  glanced  quietly 
over  them,  and  passed  on,  his  chest  bowed,  his  cadet 
cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes.  A  moment  later 
Dan,  looking  over  the  hillside,  at  the  winding  road, 
saw  him  dismount  and  put  his  shoulder  to  a  sunken 
wheel.  The  sight  suddenly  nerved  the  younger 
man,  and  he  went  on  quickly,  dragging  Jack  up 
with  him. 

That  night  they  rested  in  a  burned-out  clearing 
where  the  pine  trees  had  been  felled  for  fence  rails. 
The  rails  went  readily  to  fires,  and  Pinetop  fried 
strips  of  fat  bacon  in  the  skillet  he  had  brought 
upon  his  musket.  Somebody  produced  a  handful 
of  coffee  from  his  pocket,  and  a  little  later  Dan, 


On  the  Road  to  Romney  345 

dozing  beside  the  flames,  was  awakened  by  the 
aroma. 

"  By  George ! "  he  burst  out,  and  sat  up  speech- 
less. 

Pinetop  was  mixing  thin  cornmeal  paste  into 
the  gravy,  and  he  looked  up  as  he  stirred  busily 
with  a  small  stick. 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  these  here  slapjacks  air  about 
done,"  he  remarked  in  a  moment,  adding  with  a 
glance  at  Dan,  "  and  if  your  stomach's  near  as 
empty  as  your  eyes,  I  reckon  your  turn  comes  first." 

"  I  reckon  it  does,"  said  Dan,  and  filling  his  tin 
cup,  he  drank  scalding  coffee  in  short  gulps. 
When  he  had  finished  it,  he  piled  fresh  rails  upon 
the  fire  and  lay  down  to  sleep  with  his  feet  against 
the  embers. 

With  the  earliest  dawn  a  long  shiver  woke 
him,  and  as  he  put  out  his  hand  it  touched  something 
wet  and  cold.  The  fire  had  died  to  a  red  heart,  and 
a  thick  blanket  of  snow  covered  him  from  head 
to  foot.  Straight  above  there  was  a  pale  yel- 
low light  where  the  stars  shone  dimly  after  the 
storm. 

He  started  to  his  feet,  rubbing  a  handful  of  snow 
upon  his  face.  The  red  embers,  sheltered  by  the 
body  of  a  solitary  pine,  still  glowed  under  the 
charred  brushwood,  and  kneeling  upon  the  ground, 
he  fanned  them  into  a  feeble  blaze.  Then  he 
laid  the  rails  crosswise,  protecting  them  with  his 
blanket  until  they  caught  and  flamed  up  against  the 
blackened  pine. 

Near  by  Jack  Powell  was  moaning  in  his  sleep, 
and  Dan  leaned  over  to  shake  him  into  conscious- 


346  The  Battle-Ground 

ness.  "  Oh,  damn  it  all,  wake  up,  you  fool ! "  he 
said  roughly,  but  Jack  rolled  over  like  one  drugged 
and  broke  into  frightened  whimpers  such  as  a 
child  makes  in  the  dark.  He  was  dreaming  of 
home,  and  as  Dan  listened  to  the  half -choked 
words,  his  face  contracted  sharply.  "  Wake  up, 
you  fool !  "  he  repeated  angrily,  rolling  him  back 
and  forth  before  the  fire. 

A  little  later,  when  Jack  had  grown  warm  be- 
neath his  touch,  he  threw  a  blanket  over  him,  and 
turned  to  lie  down  in  his  own  place.  As  he  tossed  a 
last  armful  on  the  fire,  his  eyes  roamed  over  the 
long  mounds  of  snow  that  filled  the  clearing,  and 
he  caught  his  breath  as  a  man  might  who  had 
waked  suddenly  among  the  dead.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  dawn,  with  the  glimmer  of  smouldering 
fires  reddening  the  snow,  there  was  something  al- 
most ghastly  in  the  sloping  field  filled  with  white 
graves  and  surrounded  by  white  mountains.  Even 
the  wintry  sky  borrowed,  for  an  hour,  the  spectral 
aspect  of  the  earth,  and  the  familiar  shapes  of  cloud, 
as  of  hill,  stood  out  with  all  the  majesty  of  un- 
covered laws  —  stripped  of  the  mere  frivolous  effect 
of  light  or  shade.  It  was  like  the  first  day  —  or 
the  last. 

Dan,  sitting  watchful  beside  the  fire,  fell  into  the 
peculiar  mental  state  which  comes  only  after  an  in- 
ward struggle  that  has  laid  bare  the  sinews  of  one's 
life.  He  had  fought  the  good  fight  to  the  end, 
and  he  knew  that  from  this  day  he  should  go  easier 
with  himself  because  he  knew  that  he  had  con- 
quered. 

The  old  doubt  —  the  old   distrust  of  his   own 


On  the  Road  to  Romney  347 

strength  —  was  fallen  from  him.  At  the  moment  he 
could  have  gone  to  Betty,  fearless  and  full  of  hope, 
and  have  said,  "  Come,  for  I  am  grown  up  at  last 
—  at  last  I  have  grown  up  to  my  love."  A  great 
tenderness  was  in  his  heart,  and  the  tears,  which 
had  not  risen  for  all  the  bodily  suffering  of  the  past 
two  weeks,  came  slowly  to  his  eyes.  The  purpose 
of  life  seemed  suddenly  clear  to  him,  and  the  large 
patience  of  the  sky  passed  into  his  own  nature  as 
he  sat  facing  the  white  dawn.  At  rare  intervals 
in  the  lives  of  all  strenuous  souls  there  comes  this 
sense  of  kinship  with  external  things  —  this  pas- 
sionate recognition  of  the  appeal  of  the  dumb 
world.  Sky  and  mountains  and  the  white  sweep  of 
the  fields  awoke  in  him  the  peculiar  tenderness  he 
had  always  felt  for  animals  or  plants.  His  old 
childish  petulance  was  gone  from  him  forever;  in 
its  place  he  was  aware  of  a  kindly  tolerance  which 
softened  even  the  common  outlines  of  his  daily  life. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  awakened  breathlessly  to  find 
himself  a  man. 

And  Betty  came  to  him  again  —  not  in  detached 
visions,  but  entire  and  womanly.  When  he  remem- 
bered her  as  on  that  last  night  at  Chericoke  it  was 
with  the  impulse  to  fall  down  and  kiss  her  feet. 
Reckless  and  blind  with  anger  as  he  had  been, 
she  would  have  come  cheerfully  with  him  where- 
ever  his  road  led;  and  it  was  this  passionate  be- 
trayal of  herself  that  had  taught  him  the  full  meas- 
ure of  her  love.  An  attempt  to  trifle,  to  waver,  to 
bargain  with  the  future,  he  might  have  looked  back 
upon  with  tender  scorn ;  but  the  gesture  with  which 
she  had  made  her  choice  was  as  desperate  as  his  own 


348  The  Battle-Ground 

mood  —  and  it^was  for  this  one  reckless  moment 
that  he  loved  her  best. 

The  east  paled  slowly  as  the  day  broke  in  a 
cloud,  and  the  long  shadows  beside  the  fire  lost 
their  reddish  glimmer.  A  little  bird,  dazed  by  the 
cold  and  the  strange  light,  flew  into  the  smoke 
against  the  stunted  pine,  and  fell,  a  wet  ball  of  feath- 
ers at  Dan's  feet.  He  picked  it  up,  warmed  it  in 
his  coat,  and  fed  it  from  the  loose  crumbs  in  his 
pocket. 

When  Pinetop  awoke  he  was  gently  stroking  the 
bird  while  he  sang  in  a  low  voice :  — 

"  Gay  and  happy,  gay  and  happy, 
We'll  be  gay  and  happy  stilL" 


vn 

"  I    WAIT    MY   TIME  " 

When  he  returned  to  Winchester  it  was  to  find 
Virginia  already  there  as  Jack  Morson's  wife.  Since 
her  marriage  in  late  summer  she  had  followed  her 
husband's  regiment  from  place  to  place,  drifting  at 
last  to  a  big  yellow  house  on  the  edge  of  the  fiery 
little  town.  Dan,  passing  along  the  street  one  day, 
heard  his  name  called  in  a  familiar  voice,  and  turned 
to  find  her  looking  at  him  through  the  network  of  a 
tall,  wrought-iron  gate. 

"Virginia!  Bless  my  soul!  Where's  Betty?" 
he  exclaimed  amazed. 

Virginia  left  the  gate  and  gave  him  her  hand  over 
the  dried  creepers  on  the  wall. 

"  Why,  you  look  ten  years  older,"  was  her  re- 
sponse. 

"  Indeed !  Well,  two  years  of  beggary,  to  say 
nothing  of  eight  months  of  war,  isn't  just  the  thing 
to  insure  immortal  youth,  is  it?  You  see,  I'm  turn- 
ing gray." 

The  pallor  of  the  long  march  was  in  his  face, 
giving  him  a  striking  though  unnatural  beauty.  His 
eyes  were  heavy  and  his  hair  hung  dishevelled  about 
his  brow,  but  the  change  went  deeper  still,  and  the 
girl  saw  it.  "  You're  bigger  —  that's  it,"  she  said, 
and  added  impulsively,  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  Betty 
could  see  you  now." 

349 


350  The  Battle-Ground 

Her  hand  was  upon  the  wall  and  he  gave  it  a 

quick,  pleased  pressure. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  she  could,"  he  echoed  heartily. 

"  But  I  shall  tell  her  everything  when  I  write  — ■ 
everything.  I  shall  tell  her  that  you  are  taller  and 
stronger  and  that  you  have  been  in  all  the  fights 
and  haven't  a  scar  to  show.  Betty  loves  scars,  you 
see,  and  she  doesn't  mind  even  wounds  —  real 
wounds.  She  wanted  to  go  into  the  hospitals,  but  I 
came  away  and  mamma  wouldn't  let  her." 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  let  her,"  said  Dan,  with 
a  shudder,  his  Southern  instincts  recoiling  from 
the  thought  of  service  for  the  woman  he  loved. 
"  There  are  a  plenty  of  them  in  the  hospitals  and  it's 
no  place  for  Betty,  anyway." 

"  I'll  tell  her  you  think  so,"  returned  Virginia, 
gayly.     "  I'll  tell  her  that  —  and  what  else  ?  " 

He  met  her  eyes  smiling. 

"  Tell  her  I  wait  my  time,"  he  answered,  and 
began  to  talk  lightly  of  other  things.  Virginia  fol- 
lowed his  lead  with  her  old  shy  merriment.  Her 
marriage  had  changed  her  but  little,  though  she  had 
grown  a  trifle  stately,  he  thought,  and  her  coquetry 
had  dropped  from  her  like  a  veil.  As  she  stood 
there  in  her  delicate  lace  cap  and  soft  gray  silk,  the 
likeness  to  her  mother  was  very  marked,  and  look- 
ing into  the  future,  Dan  seemed  to  see  her  beauty 
ripen  and  expand  with  her  growing  womanhood. 
How  many  of  her  race  had  there  been,  he  won- 
dered, shaped  after  the  same  pure  and  formal 
plan. 

"  And  it  is  all  just  the  same,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
delighting  in  her  beauty.     "  There  is  no  change  — 


"I  Wait  My  Time."  351 

don't  tell  me  there  is  any  change,  for  I'll  not  believe 
it.  You  bring  it  all  back  to  me,  —  the  lawn  and  the 
lilacs  and  the  white  pillars,  and  Miss  Lydia's  gar- 
den, with  the  rose  leaves  in  the  paths.  Why  are 
there  always  rose  leaves  in  Miss  Lydia's  paths,  Vir- 
ginia ? " 

Virginia  shook  her  head,  puzzled  by  his  whimsical 
tone. 

"  Because  there  are  so  many  roses,"  she  answered 
seriously. 

"  No,  you're  wrong,  there's  another  reason,  but 
I  shan't  tell  you." 

"  My  boxes  are  filled  with  rose  leaves  now,"  said 
Virginia.    "  Betty  gathered  them  for  me." 

The  smile  leaped  to  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  but  it  makes 
me  homesick,"  he  returned  lightly.  "  If  I  tell  you 
a  secret,  don't  betray  me,  Virginia  —  I  am  down- 
right homesick  for  Betty." 

Virginia  patted  his  hand. 

"  So  am  I,"  she  confessed,  "  and  so  is  Mammy 
Riah  —  she's  with  me  now,  you  know  —  and  she 
says  that  I  might  have  been  married  without  Jack, 
but  never  without  Betty.  Betty  made  my  dress  and 
iced  my  cake  and  pinned  on  my  veil." 

"  Ah,  is  that  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Dan,  absent-mind- 
edly. He  was  thinking  of  Betty,  and  he  could  al- 
most see  her  hands  as  she  pinned  on  the  wedding 
veil  —  those  small  white  hands  with  the  strong  fin- 
gers that  had  closed  about  his  own. 

"  When  you  get  your  furlough  you  must  go  home, 
Dan,"  Virginia  was  saying;  "the  Major  is  very 
feeble  and  —  and  he  quarrels  with  almost  every 
one." 


J52  The  Battle-Ground 

"My  furlough,"  repeated  Dan,  witK  a  laugh. 
"  Why,  the  war  may  end  to-morrow  and  then  we'll 
all  go  home  together  and  kill  the  fatted  calf  among 
us.  Yes,  I'd  like  to  see  the  old  man  again  before 
I  die." 

"  I  pray  every  night  that  the  war  may  end  to- 
morrow," said  Virginia,  "  but  it  never  does."  Then 
she  turned  eagerly  to  the  Governor,  who  was  coming 
toward  them  under  the  leafless  trees  along  the 
street. 

"  Here's  Dan,  papa,  do  make  him  come  in  and  be 
good." 

The  Governor,  holding  himself  erect  in  his  trim 
gray  uniform,  insisted,  with  his  hand  upon  Dan's 
shoulder,  that  Virginia  should  be  obeyed;  and  the 
younger  man,  yielding  easily,  followed  him  through 
the  iron  gate  and  into  the  yellow  house. 

"  I  don't  see  you  every  day,  my  boy,  sit  down,  sit 
down,"  began  the  Governor,  as  he  took  his  stand 
upon  the  hearth-rug.  "  Daughter,  haven't  you 
learned  the  way  to  the  pantry  yet?  Dan  looks  as  if 
he'd  been  on  starvation  rations  since  he  joined  the 
army.  They  aren't  living  high  at  Romney,  eh  ?  " 
and  then,  as  Virginia  went  out,  he  fell  to  discussing 
the  questions  on  all  men's  lips  —  the  prospect  of 
peace  in  the  near  future ;  hopes  of  intervention  from 
England;  the  attitude  of  other  foreign  powers; 
and  the  reasons  for  the  latest  appointments  by  the 
President.  When  the  girl  came  in  again  they  let 
such  topics  go,  and  talked  of  home  while  she  poured 
the  coffee  and  helped  Dan  to  fried  chicken.  She 
belonged  to  the  order  of  women  who  delight  in 
feeding  a  hungry  man,  and  her  eyes  did  not  leave  his 


"I  Wait  My  Time."  353 

face  as  she  sat  behind  the  tray  and  pressed  the  food 
upon  him. 

"  Dan  thinks  the  war  will  be  over  before  he  gets 
his  furlough,"  she  said  a  little  wistfully. 

A  shadow  crossed  the  Governor's  face. 

"  Then  I  may  hope  to  get  back  in  time  to  watch 
the  cradles  in  the  wheat  field,"  he  remarked. 
"  There's  little  doing  on  the  farm  I'm  afraid  while 
I'm  away." 

"  If  they  hold  out  six  months  longer  —  well,  I'll 
be  surprised,"  exclaimed  Dan,  slapping  the  arm  of 
his  chair  with  a  gesture  like  the  Major's.  "  They've 
found  out  we  won't  give  in  so  long  as  there's  a  mus- 
ket left ;   and  that's  enough  for  them." 

"  Maybe  so,  maybe  so,"  returned  the  Governor, 
for  it  was  a  part  of  his  philosophy  to  cast  his  conver- 
sational lines  in  the  pleasant  places.  "  Please  God, 
we'll  drink  our  next  Christmas  glass  at  Cheri- 
coke." 

"  In  the  panelled  parlour,"  added  Dan,  his  eyes 
lighting. 

"  With  Aunt  Emmeline's  portrait,"  finished  Vir- 
ginia, smiling. 

For  a  time  they  were  all  silent,  each  looking  hap- 
pily into  the  far-off  room,  and  each  seeing  a  distinct 
and  different  vision.  To  the  Governor  the  peaceful 
hearth  grew  warm  again  —  he  saw  his  wife  and 
children  gathered  there,  and  a  few  friendly  neigh- 
bours with  their  long-lived,  genial  jokes  upon  their 
lips.  To  Virginia  it  was  her  own  bridal  over  again 
with  the  fear  of  war  gone  from  her,  and  the 
quiet  happiness  she  wanted  stretching  out  into  the 
future.     To  Dan  there  was  first  his  own  honouf 


354  The  Battle-Ground 

to  be  won,  and  then  only  Betty  and  himself  — 
Betty  and  himself  under  next  year's  mistletoe  to- 
gether. 

"  Well,  well,"  sighed  the  Governor,  and  came 
back  regretfully  to  the  present.  "  It's  a  good  place 
we're  thinking  of,  and  I  reckon  you're  sorry  enough 
you  left  it  before  you  were  obliged  to.  We  all  make 
mistakes,  my  boy,  and  the  fortunate  ones  are  those 
who  live  long  enough  to  unmake  them." 

His  warm  smile  shone  out  suddenly,  and  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  he  began  to  ask  for  news  of 
Jack  Powell  and  his  comrades,  all  of  whom  he  knew 
by  name.  "  I  was  talking  to  Colonel  Burwell  about 
you  the  other  day,"  he  added  presently,  "  and  he 
gave  you  a  fighting  record  that  would  do  honour  to 
the  Major/' 

"  He's  a  nice  old  chap,"  responded  Dan,  easily, 
for  in  thc>  hrst  years  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Vir- 
ginia the  question  of  rank  presented  itself  only  upon 
the  parade  ground,  and  beyond  the  borders  of  the 
camp  3  private  had  been  known  to  condescend  to  his 
own  Colonel.  "  A  gentleman  fights  for  his  country 
as  hc:  pleases,  a  plebeian  as  he  must,"  the  Governor 
would  have  explained  with  a  touch  of  his  old  ora- 
tory. "  He's  a  nice  old  chap  himself,  but,  by  George, 
the  discipline  fits  like  a  straight-jacket,"  pursued 
Dan,  as  he  finished  his  coffee.  "  Why,  here  we  are 
three  miles  below  Winchester  in  a  few  threadbare 
tents,  and  they  make  as  much  fuss  about  our  coming 
into  town  as  if  we  were  the  Yankees  themselves. 
Talk  about  Romney !  Why,  it's  no  colder  at  Rom- 
ney  than  it  was  here  last  week,  and  yet  Loring's 
men  are  living  in  huts  like  princes." 


«  I  Wait  My  Time."  355 

"  Show  me  a  volunteer  and  I'll  show  you  a 
grumbler,"  put  in  the  Governor,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  grumbling,  I'm  merely  pointing  out 
the  facts,"  protested  Dan;  then  he  rose  and  stood 
holding  Virginia's  hand  as  he  met  her  upward 
glance  with  his  unflinching  admiration.  "  Come 
again !  Why,  I  should  say  so,"  he  declared.  "  I'll 
come  as  long  as  I  have  a  collar  left,  and  then  —  well, 
then  I'll  pass  the  time  of  day  with  you  over  the 
hedge.  Good-by,  Colonel,  remember  I'm  not  a 
grumbler,  I'm  merely  a  man  of  facts." 

The  door  closed  after  him  and  a  moment  later 
they  heard  his  clear  whistle  in  the  street. 

"  The  boy  is  like  his  father,"  said  the  Governor, 
thoughtfully,  "  like  his  father  with  the  devil  broken 
to  harness.  The  Mont  joy  blood  may  be  bad  blood, 
but  it  makes  big  men,  daughter."  He  sighed  and 
drew  his  small  figure  to  its  full  height. 

Virginia  was  looking  into  the  fire.  "  I  hope  he 
will  come  again,"  she  returned  softly,  thinking  of 
Betty. 

But  when  he  called  again  a  week  later  Virginia  did 
not  see  him.  It  was  a  cold  starlit  night,  and  the  big 
yellow  house,  as  he  drew  near  it,  glowed  like  a  lamp 
amid  the  leafless  trees.  Beside  the  porch  a  number 
of  cavalry  horses  were  fastened  to  the  pillars,  and 
through  the  long  windows  there  came  the  sound  of 
laughter  and  of  gay  "  good-bys." 

The  "  fringe  of  the  asmy,"  as  Dan  had  once  jeer- 
ingly  called  it,  was  merrily  making  ready  for  a 
raid. 

As  he  listened  he  leaned  nearer  the  window  and 
watched,  half  enviously,  the  men  he  had  once  known. 


356  The  Battle-Ground 

His  old  life  had  been  a  part  of  theirs  and  now, 
looking  in  from  the  outside,  it  seemed  very  far 
away  —  the  poetry  of  war  beside  which  the  other 
was  mere  dull  history  in  which  no  names  were  writ- 
ten. He  thought  of  Prince  Rupert,  and  of  his  own 
joy  in  the  saddle,  and  the  longing  for  the  raid 
seized  him  like  a  heartache.  Oh,  to  feel  again  the 
edge  of  the  keen  wind  in  his  teeth  and  to  hear  the 
silver  ring  of  the  hoofs  on  the  frozen  road. 

"  Jine  the  cavalry, 
Jine  the  cavalry, 
If  you  want  to  have  a  good  time  jine  the  cavalry." 

The  words  floated  out  to  him,  and  he  laughed 
aloud  as  if  he  had  awakened  from  a  comic  dream. 

That  was  the  romance  of  war,  but,  after  all,  he 
was  only  the  man  who  bore  the  musket. 


VIII 

THE  ALTAR  OF  THE   WAR  GOD 

With  the  opening  spring  Virginia  went  .down  to 
Richmond,  where  Jack  Morson  had  taken  rooms  for 
her  in  the  house  of  an  invalid  widow  whose  three 
sons  were  at  the  front.  The  town  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  refugees  from  the  North  and  represen- 
tatives from  the  South,  and  as  the  girl  drove  through 
the  crowded  streets,  she  exclaimed  wonderingly  at 
the  festive  air  the  houses  wore. 

"  Why,  the  doors  are  all  open,"  she  observed. 
"  It  looks  like  one  big  family." 

"  That's  about  what  it  is,"  replied  Jack.  "  The 
whole  South  is  here  and  there's  not  a  room  to  be 
had  for  love  or  money.  Food  is  getting  dear,  too, 
they  say,  and  the  stranger  within  the  gates  has  the 
best  of  everything."  He  stopped  short  and  laughed 
from  sheer  surprise  at  Virginia's  loveliness. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I'm  here,  anyway,"  said  the  girl, 
pressing  his  arm,  "  and  Mammy  Riah's  glad,  too, 
though  she  won't  confess  it.  —  Aren't  you  just  de- 
lighted to  see  Jack  again,  Mammy  ?  " 

The  old  negress  grunted  in  her  corner  of  the  car- 
riage. "  I  ain'  seed  no  use  in  all  dis  yer  fittin'," 
she  responded.  "  Wat's  de  use  er  fittin'  ef  dar  ain1 
sumpen'  ter  fit  fer  dat  you  ain'  got  a'ready  ?  " 

"  That's  it,  Mammy,"  replied  Jack,  gayly,  "  we're 

357 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 16 


358  The  Battle-Ground 

fighting  for  freedom,  and  we  haven't  had  it  yet,  you 
see." 

"  Is  dat  ar  freedom  vittles  ?  "  scornfully  retorted 
the  old  woman.    "  Is  it  close  ?  is  it  wood  ter  bu'n  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  will  soon  be  here  and  you'll  find  out,"  said 
Virginia,  cheerfully,  and  when  a  little  later  she  set- 
tled herself  in  her  pleasant  rooms,  she  returned  to 
her  assurances. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  you're  here,  Mammy,  aren't 
you  glad  ?  "  she  insisted,  with  her  arm  about  the  old 
woman's  neck. 

"  I'd  des  like  ter  git  a  good  look  at  ole  Miss  agin," 
returned  Mammy  Riah,  softening,  "  caze  ef  you  en 
ole  Miss  ain'  des  like  two  peas  in  a  pod,  my  eyes 
hev  done  crack  wid  de  sight  er  you.  Dar  ain'  been 
nuttin'  so  pretty  es  you  sence  de  day  I  dressed  ole 
Miss  in  'er  weddin'  veil." 

"  You're  right,"  exclaimed  Jack,  heartily.  "  But 
look  at  this,  Virginia,  here's  a  regular  corn  field  at 
the  back.  Mrs.  Minor  tells  me  that  vegetables  have 
grown  so  scarce  she  has  been  obliged  to  turn  her 
flower  beds  into  garden  patches."  He  threw  open 
the  window,  and  they  went  out  upon  the  wide  piazza 
which  hung  above  the  young  corn  rows. 

During  the  next  few  weeks,  when  Jack  was  often 
in  the  city,  an  almost  feverish  gayety  possessed  the 
girl.  In  the  war-time  parties,  where  the  women 
wore  last  year's  dresses,  and  the  wit  served  for  re- 
freshment, her  gentle  beauty  became,  for  a  little 
while,  the  fashion.  The  smooth  bands  of  her  hair 
were  copied,  the  curve  of  her  eyelashes  was  made 
the  subject  of  some  verses  which  The  Examiner 
printed  and  the  English  papers  quoted  later  on.    It 


The  Altar  of  the  War  God         359 

was  a  bright  and  stately  society  that  filled  the  capital 
that  year;  and  on  pleasant  Sundays  when  Virginia 
walked  from  church,  in  her  Leghorn  bonnet  and 
white  ruffles  flaring  over  crinoline  as  they  neared 
the  ground,  men,  who  had  bled  on  fields  of  honour 
for  the  famous  beauties  of  the  South,  would  drop 
their  talk  to  follow  her  with  warming  eyes.  Cities 
might  fall  and  battles  might  be  lost  and  won,  but 
their  joy  in  a  beautiful  woman  would  endure  until  a 
great  age. 

At  last  Jack  Morson  rode  away  to  service,  and  the 
girl  kept  to  the  quiet  house  and  worked  on  the  little 
garments  which  the  child  would  need  in  the  sum- 
mer. She  was  much  alone,  but  the  delicate  widow, 
who  had  left  her  couch  to  care  for  the  sick  and 
wounded  soldiers,  would  sometimes  come  and  sit 
near  her  while  she  sewed. 

"  This  is  the  happiest  time  —  before  the  child 
comes,"  she  said  one  day,  and  added,  with  the  ob- 
servant eye  of  mothers,  "  it  will  be  a  boy ;  there  is 
a  pink  lining  to  the  basket." 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  a  boy,"  replied  Virginia,  wist- 
fully. 

"  I  have  had  six,"  pursued  the  woman,  "  six  sons, 
and  yet  I  am  alone  now.  Three  are  dead,  and  three 
are  in  the  army.  I  am  always  listening  for  the  sum- 
mons that  means  another  grave."  She  clasped  her 
thin  hands  and  smiled  the  patient  smile  that  chilled 
Virginia's  blood. 

"  Couldn't  you  have  kept  one  back?"  asked  the 
girl  in  a  whisper. 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  Much  brooding  had 
darkened  her  mind,  but  there  was  a  peculiar  fervour 


360  The  Battle-Ground 

in  her  face  —  an  inward  light  that  shone  through 
her  faded  eyes. 

"  Not  one  —  not  one,"  she  answered.  "  When  the 
South  called,  I  sent  the  first  two,  and  when  they  fell, 
I  sent  the  others  —  only  the  youngest  I  kept  back  at 
first  —  he  is  just  seventeen.  Then  another  call  came 
and  he  begged  so  hard  I  let  him  go.  No,  I  gave 
them  all  gladly  —  I  have  kept  none  back." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  and  sat  smiling  at  her 
folded  hands.  Weakened  in  body  and  broken  by 
many  sorrows  as  she  was,  with  few  years  before  her 
and  those  filled  with  inevitable  suffering,  the  fire  of 
the  South  still  burned  in  her  veins,  and  she  gave 
herself  as  ardently  as  she  gave  her  sons.  The  pity 
of  it  touched  Virginia  suddenly,  and  in  the  midst  of 
her  own  enthusiasm  she  felt  the  tears  upon  her 
lashes.  Was  not  an  army  invincible,  she  asked,  into 
which  the  women  sent  their  dearest  with  a  smile? 

Through  the  warm  spring  weather  she  sat  beside 
the  long  window  that  gave  on  the  street,  or  walked 
slowly  up  and  down  among  the  vegetable  rows  in 
the  garden.  The  growing  of  the  crops  became  an 
unending  interest  to  her  and  she  watched  them, 
day  by  day,  until  she  learned  to  know  each  separate 
plant  and  to  look  for  its  unfolding.  When  the 
drought  came  she  carried  water  from  the  hydrant, 
and  assisted  by  Mammy  Riah  sprinkled  the  young 
tomatoes  until  they  shot  up  like  weeds.  "  It  is  so 
much  better  than  war,"  she  would  say  to  Jack 
when  he  rode  through  the  city.  "  Why  will  men 
kill  one  another  when  they  might  make  things  live 
instead  ?  " 

Beside   the   piazza   there   was   a   high   magnolia 


The  Altar  of  the  War  God         361 

tree,  and  under  this  she  made  a  little  rustic  bench 
and  a  bed  of  flowers.  When  the  hollyhocks  and  the 
sunflowers  bloomed  it  would  look  like  Uplands,  she 
said,  laughing. 

Under  the  magnolia  there  was  quiet,  but  from  her 
front  window,  while  she  sat  at  work,  she  could  see 
the  whole  overcrowded  city  passing  through  sun 
and  shadow.  Sometimes  distinguished  strangers 
would  go  by,  men  from  the  far  South  in  black 
broadcloth  and  slouch  hats ;  then  the  President,  slim 
and  erect  and  very  grave,  riding  his  favourite  horse 
to  one  of  the  encampments  near  the  city;  and  then 
a  noted  beauty  from  another  state,  her  chin  lifted 
above  the  ribbons  of  her  bonnet,  a  smile  tucked  in 
the  red  corners  of  her  lips.  Following  there  would 
surge  by  the  same  eager,  staring  throng  —  men  too 
old  to  fight  who  had  lost  their  work ;  women  whose 
husbands  fought  in  the  trenches  for  the  money  that 
would  hardly  buy  a  sack  of  flour ;  soldiers  from  one 
of  the  many  camps;  noisy  little  boys  with  tin 
whistles ;  silent  little  girls  waving  Confederate  flags. 
Back  and  forth  they  passed  on  the  bright  May  after- 
noons, filling  the  street  with  a  ceaseless  murmur  and 
the  blur  of  many  colours. 

And  again  the  crowd  would  part  suddenly  to  make 
way  for  a  battalion  marching  to  the  front,  or  for  a 
single  soldier  riding,  with  muffled  drums,  to  his 
grave  in  Hollywood.  The  quick  step  or  the  slow 
gait  of  the  riderless  horse;  the  wild  cheers  or  the 
silence  on  the  pavement ;  the  "  Bonnie  Blue  Flag  " 
or  the  funeral  dirge  before  the  coffin;  the  eager 
faces  of  men  walking  to  where  death  was  or  the 
fallen  ones  of  those  who  came  back  with  the  dead; 


362  The  Battle-Ground 

the  bold  flags  taking  the  wind  like  sails  or  the  ban- 
ners furled  with  crepe  as  they  drooped  forward  — 
there  was  not  a  day  when  these  things  did  not  go  by 
near  together.  To  Virginia,  sitting  at  her  window, 
it  was  as  if  life  and  death  walked  on  within  each 
other's  shadow. 

Then  came  the  terrible  days  when  the  city  saw 
McClellan  sweeping  toward  it  from  the  Chickahom- 
iny,  when  senators  and  clergymen  gathered  with  the 
slaves  to  raise  the  breastworks,  and  men  turned 
blankly  to  ask  one  another  "  Where  is  the  army  ?  " 
With  the  girl  the  question  meant  only  mystification ; 
she  felt  none  of  the  white  terror  that  showed  in  the 
faces  round  her.  There  was  in  her  heart  an  un- 
questioning, childlike  trust  in  the  God  of  battles  — 
sooner  or  later  he  would  declare  for  the  Confed- 
eracy and  until  then  —  well,  there  was  always  Gen- 
eral Lee  to  stand  between.  Her  chief  regret  was 
that  the  lines  had  closed  and  her  mother  could  not 
come  to  her  as  she  had  promised. 

In  the  intense  heat  that  hung  above  the  town  she 
sat  at  her  southern  window,  where  the  river  breeze 
blew  across  the  garden,  and  watched  placidly  the 
palm-leaf  fan  which  Mammy  Riah  waved  before  her 
face.  The  magnolia  tree  had  flowered  in  great 
white  blossoms,  and  the  heavy  perfume  mingled  in 
Virginia's  thoughts  with  the  yellow  sunshine,  the 
fretful  clamour,  and  the  hot  dust  of  the  city.  When 
at  the  end  of  May  a  rain  storm  burst  overhead  and 
sent  the  wide  white  petals  to  the  earth,  it  was  almost 
a  relief  to  see  them  go.  But  by  the  morrow  new 
ones  had  opened,  and  the  perfume  she  had  sickened 
of  still  floated  from  the  garden. 


The  Altar  of  the  War  God         363 

That  afternoon  the  sound  of  the  guns  rolled  up 
the  Williamsburg  road,  and  in  the  streets  men 
shouted  hoarsely  of  an  engagement  with  the  enemy 
at  Seven  Pines.  With  the  noise  Virginia  thrilled  to 
her  first  feeling  of  danger,  starting  from  a  repose 
which,  in  its  unconsciousness,  had  been  as  profound 
as  sleep.  The  horror  of  war  rushed  in  upon  her  at 
the  moment,  and  with  a  cry  she  leaned  out  into  the 
street,  and  listened  for  the  next  roll  of  the  cannon. 

A  woman,  with  a  scared  face,  looked  up,  saw  her, 
and  spoke  hysterically. 

"  There's  not  a  man  left  in  the  city,"  she  cried. 
"  They've  taken  my  father  to  defend  the  breast- 
works and  he's  near  seventy.  If  you  can  sew  or 
wash  or  cook,  there'll  be  work  enough  for  you,  God 
knows,  to-morrow !  " 

She  hurried  on  and  Virginia,  turning  from  the 
window,  buried  herself  in  the  pillows  upon  the  bed, 
trying  in  vain  to  shut  out  the  noise  of  the  cannon- 
ading and  the  perfume  of  the  magnolia  blossoms 
which  came  in  on  the  southern  breeze.  With  night 
the  guns  grew  silent  and  the  streets  empty,  but  still 
the  girl  lay  sleepless,  watching  with  frightened  eyes 
the  shadow  of  Mammy  Riah's  palm-leaf  fan. 

At  dawn  the  restless  murmur  began  again,  and 
Virginia,  looking  out  in  the  hot  sunrise,  saw  the 
crowd  hastening  back  to  the  hospitals  lower  down. 
They  were  all  there,  all  as  they  had  been  the  day 
before  —  old  men  limping  out  for  news  or  return- 
ing beside  the  wounded;  women  with  trembling 
lips  and  arms  filled  with  linen ;  ambulances  passing 
the  corner  at  a  walk,  surrounded  by  men  who  had 
staggered  after  them  because  there  was  no  room 


364  The  Battle-Ground 

left  inside ;  and  following  always  the  same  curious, 
pallid  throng,  fresh  upon  the  scent  of  some  new 
tragedy.  Presently  the  ambulances  gave  out,  and 
yet  the  wounded  came  —  some  walking,  and  moan- 
ing as  they  walked,  some  borne  on  litters  by  de- 
voted servants,  some  drawn  in  market  wagons 
pressed  into  use.  The  great  warehouses  and  the 
churches  were  thrown  open  to  give  them  shelter, 
but  still  they  came  and  still  the  cry  went  up,  "  Room, 
more  room ! " 

Virginia  watched  it  all,  leaning  out  to  follow  the 
wagons  as  they  passed  the  corner.  The  sight  sick- 
ened her,  but  something  that  was  half  a  ghastly  fas- 
cination and  half  the  terror  of  missing  a  face  she 
knew,  kept  her  hour  after  hour  motionless  upon 
*  her  knees.  At  each  roll  of  the  guns  she  gave  a  ner- 
vous shiver  and  grew  still  as  stone. 

Then,  as  she  knelt  there,  a  man,  in  clerical  dress, 
came  down  the  pavement  and  stopped  before  her 
window.  "  I  hope  your  husband's  wound  was  not 
serious,  Mrs.  Morson,"  he  said  sympathetically. 
"  If  I  can  be  of  any  assistance,  please  don't  hesitate 
to  call  on  me." 

"  Jack  wounded !  —  oh,  he  is  not  wounded,"  re- 
plied Virginia.  She  rose  and  stood  wildly  looking 
down  upon  him. 

He  saw  his  mistake  and  promptly  retracted  what 
he  could. 

"  If  you  don't  know  of  it,  it  can't  be  true,"  he 
urged  kindly.  "  So  many  rumours  are  afloat  that 
half  of  them  are  without  foundation.  However,  I 
will  make  inquiries  if  you  wish/'  and  he  passed  on 
with  a  promise  to  return  at  once. 


The  Altar  of  the  War  God         365 

For  a  time  Virginia  stood  blankly  gazing  after 
him;  then  she  turned  steadily  and  took  down  her 
bonnet  from  the  wardrobe.  She  even  went  to  the 
bureau  and  carefully  tied  the  pink  ribbon  strings 
beneath  her  chin. 

"  I  am  going  out,  Mammy  Riah,"  she  said  when 
she  had  finished.  "  No,  don't  tell  me  I  mustn't  —  I 
am  going  out,  I  say." 

She  stamped  her  foot  impatiently,  but  Mammy 
Riah  made  no  protest. 

"  Des  let's  go  den,"  she  returned,  smoothing  her 
head  handkerchief  as  she  prepared  to  follow. 

The  sun  was  already  high  above,  and  the  breeze, 
which  had  blown  for  three  days  from  the  river,  had 
dropped  suddenly  since  dawn.  Down  the  brick 
pavement  the  relentless  glare  flashed  back  into  the 
sky  which  hung  hot  blue  overhead.  To  Virginia, 
coming  from  the  shade  of  her  rooms,  the  city 
seemed  a  furnace  and  the  steady  murmur  a  great 
discord  in  which  every  note  was  one  of  pain. 

Other  women  looking  for  their  wounded  hurried 
by  her  —  one  stopped  to  ask  if  she  had  been  into 
the  unused  tobacco  warehouse  and  if  she  had  seen 
there  a  boy  she  knew  by  name  ?  Another,  with  lint 
bandages  in  her  hand,  begged  her  to  come  into  a 
church  hard  by  and  assist  in  ravelling  linen  for  the 
surgeons.  Then  she  looked  down,  saw  the  girl's 
figure,  and  grew  nervous.  "  You  are  not  fit,  my 
dear,  go  home,"  she  urged,  but  Virginia  shook  her 
head  and  smiled. 

"  I  am  looking  for  my  husband,"  she  answered  in 
a  cold  voice  and  passed  on.  Mammy  Riah  caught 
up  with  her,  but  she  broke  away.     "  Go  home  if 


366  The  Battle-Ground 

you  want  to  —  oh,  go  back,"  she  cried  irritably. 
"  I  am  looking  for  Jack,  you  know." 

Into  the  rude  hospitals,  one  after  one,  she  went 
without  shuddering,  passing  up  and  down  between 
the  ghastly  rows  lying  half  clothed  upon  the  bare 
plank  floors.  Her  eyes  were  strained  and  eager, 
and  more  than  one  dying  man  turned  to  look  after 
her  as  she  went  by,  and  carried  the  memory  of  her 
face  with  him  to  death.  Once  she  stopped  and 
folded  a  blanket  under  the  head  of  a  boy  who 
moaned  aloud,  and  then  gave  him  water  from  a 
pitcher  close  at  hand.  "  You're  so  cool  —  so  cool," 
he  sobbed,  clutching  at  her  dress,  but  she  smiled 
like  one  asleep  and  passed  on  rapidly. 

When  the  long  day  had  worn  out  at  last,  she  came 
from  an  open  store  filled  with  stretchers,  and  started 
homeward  over  the  burning  pavement.  Her  search 
was  useless,  and  the  reaction  from  her  terrible  fear 
left  her  with  a  sudden  tremor  in  her  heart.  As  she 
walked  she  leaned  heavily  upon  Mammy  Riah,  and 
her  colour  came  and  went  in  quick  flashes.  The 
heat  had  entered  into  her  brain  and  with  it  the 
memory  of  open  wounds  and  the  red  hands  of  sur- 
geons. Reaching  the  house  at  last,  she  flung  her- 
self all  dressed  upon  the  bed  and  fell  into  a  sleep 
that  was  filled  with  changing  dreams. 

At  midnight  she  cried  out  in  agony,  believing  her- 
self to  be  still  in  the  street.  When  Mammy  Riah 
bent  over  her  she  did  not  know  her,  but  held  out 
shaking  hands  and  asked  for  her  mother,  calling 
the  name  aloud  in  the  silent  house,  deserted  for  the 
sake  of  the  hospitals  lower  down.  She  was  walking 
again  on  and  on  over  the  hot  bricks,  and  the  deep 


The  Altar  of  the  War  God         367 

wounds  were  opening  before  her  eyes  while  the  sur- 
geons went  by  with  dripping  hands.  Once  she 
started  up  and  cried  out  that  the  terrible  blue  sky 
was  crushing  her  down  to  the  pavement  which 
burned  her  feet.  Then  the  odour  of  the  magnolia 
filled  her  nostrils,  and  she  talked  of  the  scorching 
dust,  of  the  noise  that  would  not  stop,  and  of  the 
feeble  breeze  that  blew  toward  her  from  the  river. 
All  night  she  wandered  back  and  forth  in  the  broad 
glare  of  the  noon,  and  all  night  Mammy  Riah 
passed  from  the  clinging  hands  to  the  window  where 
she  looked  for  help  in  the  empty  street.  And  then, 
as  the  gray  dawn  broke,  Virginia  put  her  simple 
services  by,  and  spoke  in  a  clear  voice. 

"  Oh,  how  lovely,"  she  said,  as  if  well  pleased. 
A  moment  more  and  she  lay  smiling  like  a  child,  her 
chin  pressed  deep  in  her  open  palm. 

In  the  full  sunrise  a  physician,  who  had  run  in  at 
the  old  woman's  cry,  came  from  the  house  and 
stopped  bareheaded  in  the  breathless  heat.  For  a 
moment  he  stared  over  the  moving  city  and  then  up 
into  the  cloudless  blue  of  the  sky. 

''God  damn  war!"  he  said  suddenly,  and  went 
back  to  his  knife. 


IX 

THE   MONTJOY   BLOOD  AGAIN 

A  month  later  Dan  heard  of  Virginia's  deatK 
when,  at  the  end  of  the  Seven  Days,  he  was  brought 
wounded  into  Richmond.  As  he  lay  upon  church 
cushions  on  the  floor  of  an  old  warehouse  on  Main 
Street,  with  Big  Abel  shaking  a  tattered  palm-leaf 
fan  at  his  side,  a  cavalryman  came  up  to  him  and 
held  out  a  hand  that  trembled  slightly  from  fa- 
tigue. 

"  I  heard  you  were  here.  Can  I  do  anything 
for  you,  Beau  ?  "  he  asked. 

For  an  instant  Dan  hesitated;  then  the  other 
smiled,  and  he  recognized  Jack  Morson. 

"  My  God !  You've  been  ill !  "  he  exclaimed  in 
horror.  Jack  laughed  and  let  his  hand  fall.  The 
boyish  colour  was  gone  from  his  face,  and  he  wore 
an  untrimmed  beard  which  made  him  look  twice 
his  age. 

"  Never  better  in  my  life,"  he  answered  shortly. 
"  Some  men  are  made  of  india-rubber,  Mont  joy, 
and  I'm  one  of  them.  I've  managed  to  get  into 
most  of  these  blessed  fights  about  Richmond,  and 
yet  I  haven't  so  much  as  a  pin  prick  to  show  for  it. 
But  what's  wrong  with  you?  Not  much,  I  hope. 
I've  just  seen  Bland,  and  he  told  me  he  thought  you 
were  left  at  Malvern  Hill  during  that  hard  rain  on 

368 


The  Montjoy  Blood  Again         369 

Tuesday  night.  How  did  you  get  knocked  over, 
anyway  ?  " 

"  A  rifle  ball  went  through  my  leg,"  replied  Dan 
impatiently.  "  I  say,  Big  Abel,  can't  you  flirt  that 
fan  a  little  faster?  These  confounded  flies  stick 
like  molasses."  Then  he  held  up  his  left  hand 
and  looked  at  it  with  a  grim  smile.  "  A  nasty 
fragment  of  a  shell  took  off  a  couple  of  my  fingers," 
he  added.  "  At  first  I  thought  they  had  begun 
throwing  hornets'  nests  from  their  guns  —  it  felt 
just  like  it.  Yes,  that's  the  worst  with  me  so  far; 
I've  still  got  a  bone  to  my  leg,  and  I'll  be  on  the 
field  again  before  long,  thank  God." 

"  Well,  the  worst  thing  about  getting  wounded 
is  being  stuffed  into  a  hole  like  this,"  returned  Jack, 
glancing  about  contemptuously.  "  Whoever  has  had 
the  charge  of  our  hospital  arrangements  may  con- 
gratulate himself  that  he  has  made  a  ghastly  mess 
of  them.  Why,  I  found  a  man  over  there  in  the 
corner  whose  leg  had  mortified  from  sheer  neglect, 
and  he  told  me  that  the  supplies  for  the  sick  had 
given  out,  and  they'd  offered  him  cornbread  and 
bacon  for  breakfast." 

Dan  began  to  toss  restlessly,  grumbling  beneath 
his  breath.  "  If  you  ever  see  a  ball  making  in  your 
direction,"  he  advised,  "  dodge  it  clean  or  take  it 
square  in  the  mouth;  don't  go  in  for  any  com- 
promises with  a  gun,  they  aren't  worth  it."  He  lay 
silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  proudly. 
"  Big  Abel  hauled  me  off  the  field  after  I  went 
down.  How  he  found  me,  God  only  knows,  but 
find  me  he  did,  and  under  fire,  too." 

"  'Twuz  des  like  pepper,"  remarked  Big  Abel,  fan- 


370  The  Battle-Ground 

ning  briskly,  "  but  soon  es  I  heah  dat  Marse  Dan 
wuz  right  flat  on  de  groun',  I  know  dat  dar  warn' 
nobody  ter  go  atter  'im  'cep'n'  me.  Marse  Bland 
he  come  crawlin'  out  er  de  bresh,  wuckin'  'long  on 
his  stomick  same  es  er  mole,  wid  his  face  like  a 
rabbit  w'en  de  dawgs  are  'mos'  upon  'im,  en  he  sez 
hard  es  flint,  '  Beau  he's  down  over  yonder,  en 
I  tried  ter  pull  'im  out,  Big  Abel,  'fo'  de  Lawd  I 
did ! '  Den  he  drap  right  ter  de  yerth,  en  I  des  stop 
long  enough  ter  put  a  tin  bucket  on  my  haid  'fo'  I 
began  ter  crawl  atter  Marse  Dan.  Whew!  dat  ar 
bucket  hit  sutney  wuz  a  he'p,  dat  'twuz,  case  I  des 
hyeard  de  cawn  a-poppin'  all  aroun'  hit,  en  dey  ain' 
never  come  thoo  yit. 

"  Well,  suh,  w'en  I  h'ist  dat  bucket  ter  git  a  good 
look  out  dar  dey  wuz  a-fittin'  twel  dey  bus',  a- 
dodgin'  in  en  out  er  de  shucks  er  wheat  dat  dey  done 
pile  'mos'  up  ter  de  haids.  I  ain'  teck  but  one  good 
look,  suh,  den  I  drap  de  bucket  down  agin  en  keep 
a-crawlin'  like  Marse  Bland  tole  me  twel  I  git  'mos' 
ter  de  cawn  fiel'  dat  run  right  spang  up  de  hill  whar 
de  big  guns  wuz  a-spittin'  fire  en  smoke.  En  sho' 
'nough  dar  wuz  Marse  Dan  lyin'  unner  a  pine  log 
dat  Marse  Bland  hed  roll  up  ter  'im  ter  keep  de 
Yankees  f'om  hittin'  'im;  en  w'en  he  ketch  sight  er 
me  he  des  blink  his  eyes  fur  a  minute  en  laugh  right 
peart. 

"  ' W'at  dat  you  got  on  yo'  haid,  Big  Abel  ? '  he 
sez." 

"  Big  Abel's  a  hero,  there's  no  mistake,"  put  in 
Dan,  delighted.  "  Do  you  know  he  lifted  me  as  if 
I  were  a  baby  and  toted  me  out  of  that  God-for- 
saken corn  field  in  the  hottest  fire  I  ever  felt  —  and 


The  Montjoy  Blood  Again  371 

I  tipped  the  scales  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
before  I  went  to  Romney." 

"  Go  way,  Marse  Dan,  you  ain'  nuttin'  but  a  rail," 
protested  Big  Abel,  and  continued  his  story.  "  Atter 
I  done  tote  him  outer  de  cawn  fiel'  en  thoo  de  bresh, 
den  I  begin  ter  peer  roun'  fer  one  er  dese  yer  am- 
bushes, but  dere  warn'  nairy  one  un  um  dat  warn' 
a-bulgin'  a' ready.  I  d'clar  dey  des  bulged  twel 
dey  sides  'mos'  split.  I  seed  a  hack  drive  long  by 
wid  two  gemmen  a-settin'  up  in  hit,  en  one  un  em 
des  es  well  es  I  is,  —  but  w'en  I  helt  Marse  Dan  up 
right  high,  he  shake  his  haid  en  pint  ter  de  udder 
like  he  kinder  skeered.  '  Dis  yer's  my  young  brud- 
der,'  he  sez,  speakin'  sof ;  '  en  dis  yer's  my  young 
Marster,'  I  holler  back,  but  he  shake  his  haid  agin 
en  drive  right  on.  Lawd,  Lawd,  my  time's  'mos' 
up,  I  'low  den  —  yes,  suh,  I  do  —  but  w'en  I  tu'n 
roun'  squintin'  my  eyes  caze  de  sun  so  hot  —  de 
sun  he  wuz  kinder  shinin'  thoo  his  back  like  he  do 
w'en  he  hu't  yo'  eyes  en  you  cyan'  see  'im  —  dar 
came  a  dump  cyart  a-joltin'  up  de  road  wid  a 
speckled  mule  hitch  ter  it.  A  lot  er  yuther  w'ite 
folks  made  a  bee  line  fer  dat  ar  dump  cyart,  but  dey 
warn'  'fo'  me,  caze  w'en  dey  git  dar,  dar  I  wuz  a-set- 
tin' wid  Marse  Dan  laid  out  across  my  knees.  Well, 
dey  lemme  go  —  dey  bleeged  ter  caze  I  'uz  gwine 
anyway  —  en  de  speckled  mule  she  des  laid  back 
'er  years  en  let  fly  fer  Richmon'.  Yes,  suh,  I  ain' 
never  seed  sech  a  mule  es  dat.  She  'uz  des  es  full  er 
sperit  es  a  colt,  en  her  name  wuz  Sally." 

"  The  worst  of  it  was  after  getting  here,"  finished 
Dan,  who  had  lain  regarding  Big  Abel  with  a 
proud  paternal  eye,  "  they  kept  us  trundling  round 


372  The  Battle-Ground 

in  that  cart  for  three  mortal  hours,  because  they 
couldn't  find  a  hole  to  put  us  into.  An  uncovered 
wagon  was  just  in  front  of  us,  filled  with  poor  fel- 
lows who  had  been  half  the  day  in  the  sweltering 
heat,  and  we  made  the  procession  up  and  down 
the  city,  until  at  last  some  women  rushed  up  with 
their  servants  and  cleared  out  this  warehouse.  One 
was  not  over  sixteen  and  as  pretty  as  a  picture. 
'  Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  proper  authori- 
ties,' she  said,  stamping  her  foot,  '  I'll  hang  the 
proper  authorities  when  they  turn  up  —  and  in 
the  meantime  we'll  go  to  work ! '  By  Jove, 
she  was  a  trump,  that  girl!  If  she  didn't 
save  my  life,  she  did  still  better  and  saved  my 
leg." 

"  Well,  I'll  try  to  get  you  moved  by  to-morrow," 
said  Jack  reassuringly.  "  Every  home  in  the  city 
is  filled  with  the  wounded,  they  tell  me,  but  I  know 
a  little  woman  who  had  two  funerals  from  her 
house  to-day,  so  she  may  be  able  to  find  room 
for  you.  This  heat  is  something  awful,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Damnable.  I  hope,  by  the  way,  that  Virginia 
is  out  of  it  by  now." 

Jack  flinched  as  if  the  words  struck  him  between 
the  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  stood  staring  at  the 
straw  pallets  along  the  wall;  then  he  spoke  in  a 
queer  voice. 

"  Yes,  Virginia's  out  of  it  by  now ;  Virginia's 
dead,  you  know." 

"  Dead !  "  cried  Dan,  and  raised  himself  upon  his 
cushion.  The  room  went  black  before  him,  and  he 
steadied  himself  by  clutching  at  Big  Abel's  arm. 


The  Montjoy  Blood  Again         373 

At  the  instant  the  horrors  of  the  battle-field,  where 
he  had  seen  men  fall  like  grass  before  the  scythe, 
became  as  nothing  to  the  death  of  this  one  young 
girl.  He  thought  of  her  living  beauty,  of  the 
bright  glow  of  her  flesh,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  earth  could  not  hide  a  thing  so  fair. 

"  I  left  her  in  Richmond  in  the  spring,"  explained 
Jack,  gripping  himself  hard.  "  I  was  off  with 
Stuart,  you  know,  and  I  thought  her  mother  would 
get  lo  her,  but  she  couldn't  pass  the  lines  and  then 
the  fight  came  —  the  one  at  Seven  Pines  and  — 
well,  she  died  and  the  child  with  her." 

Dan's  eyes  grew  very  tender;  a  look  crept  into 
them  which  only  Betty  and  his  mother  had  seen 
there  before. 

"  I  would  have  died  for  her  if  I  could,  Jack,  you 
know  that,"  he  said  slowly. 

Jack  walked  off  a  few  paces  and  then  came  back 
again.  "  I  remember  the  Governor's  telling  me 
once,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  hard  voice,  "  that  if 
a  man  only  rode  boldly  enough  at  death  it  would 
always  get  out  of  the  way.  I  didn't  believe  it  at  the 
time,  but,  by  God,  it's  true.  Why,  I've  gone  straight 
into  the  enemy's  lines  and  heard  the  bullets  whis- 
tling in  my  ears,  but  I've  always  come  out  whole. 
When  I  rode  with  Stuart  round  McClellan's  army, 
I  was  side  by  side  with  poor  Latane  when  he  fell 
in  the  skirmish  at  Old  Church,  and  I  sat  stock  still 
on  my  horse  and  waited  for  a  fellow  to  club  me  with 
his  sabre,  but  he  wouldn't;  he  looked  at  me  as  if 
he  thought  I  had  gone  crazy,  and  actually  shook 
his  head.  Some  men  can't  die,  confound  it,  and 
I'm  one  of  them." 


374  The  Battle-Ground 

He  went  out,  his  spurs  striking  the  stone  steps 
as  he  passed  into  the  street,  and  Dan  fell  back  upon 
the  narrow  cushions  to  toss  with  fever  and  the 
memory  of  Virginia  —  of  Virginia  in  the  days  when 
she  wore  her  rose-pink  gown  and  he  believed  he 
loved  her. 

At  the  door  an  ambulance  drew  up  and  a 
stretcher  was  brought  into  the  building,  and  let 
down  in  one  corner.  The  man  on  it  was  lying 
very  still,  and  when  he  was  lifted  oft"  and  placed 
upon  the  blood-soaked  top  of  the  long  pine  table, 
he  made  no  sound,  either  of  fear  or  of  pain.  The 
close  odours  of  the  place  suddenly  sickened  Dan 
and  he  asked  Big  Abel  to  draw  him  nearer  the 
open  window,  where  he  might  catch  the  least  breeze 
from  the  river;  but  outside  the  July  sunlight  lay 
white  and  hot  upon  the  bricks,  and  when  he  strug- 
gled up  the  reflected  heat  struck  him  down  again. 
On  the  sidewalk  he  saw  several  prisoners  going 
by  amid  a  hooting  crowd,  and  with  his  old  instinct 
to  fight  upon  the  weaker  side,  he  hurled  an  oath 
at  the  tormenters  of  his  enemies. 

"  Go  to  the  field,  you  crows,  and  be  damned !  " 
he  called. 

One  of  the  prisoners,  a  ruddy-cheeked  young  fel- 
low in  private's  clothes,  looked  up  and  touched  his 
cap. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  hope  we'll  meet  at  the  front," 
he  said,  in  a  rich  Irish  brogue.  Then  he  passed  on 
to  Libby  prison,  while  Dan  turned  from  the  window 
and  lay  watching  the  surgeon's  faces  as  they  probed 
for  bullets. 

It    was    a    long    unceiled    building,    filled  with 


The  Montjoy  Blood  Again  375 

bright  daylight  and  the  buzzing  of  countless  flies. 
Women,  who  had  volunteered  for  the  service,  passed 
swiftly  over  the  creaking  boards,  or  knelt  beside 
the  pallets  as  they  bathed  the  shattered  limbs 
with  steady  fingers.  Here  and  there  a  child  held  a 
glass  of  water  to  a  man  who  could  not  raise  him- 
self, or  sat  fanning  the  flies  from  a  pallid  face. 
None  was  too  old  nor  too  young  where  there  was 
work  for  all. 

A  stir  passed  through  the  group  about  the  long 
pine  table,  and  one  of  the  surgeons,  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  brow,  came  over  to  where  Dan 
lay,  and  stopped  to  take  breath  beside  the  win- 
dow. 

"  By  Jove,  that  man  died  game,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  handkerchief  at  the  flies.  "  We  took  both  his 
legs  ofT  at  the  knee,  and  he  just  gripped  the  table 
hard  and  never  winked  an  eyelash.  I  told  him  it 
would  kill  him,  but  he  said  he'd  be  hanged  if  he 
didn't  take  his  chance  —  and  he  took  it  and  died. 
Talk  to  me  about  nerve,  that  fellow  had  the  cleanest 
grit  I  ever  saw." 

Dan's  pulses  fluttered,  as  they  always  did  at  an 
example  of  pure  pluck. 

"  What's  his  regiment  ?  "  he  asked,  watching  the 
two  slaves  who,  followed  by  their  mistresses,  were 
bringing  the  body  back  to  the  stretcher. 

"  Oh,  he  was  a  scout,  I  believe,  serving  with 
Stuart  when  he  was  wounded.  His  name  is  —  by 
the  way,  his  name  is  Montjoy.  Any  relative  of 
yours,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Raising  himself  upon  his  elbow,  Dan  turned  to 
look  at  the  dead  man  beside  him.    A  heavy  beard 


376  The  Battle-Ground 

covered  the  mouth  and  chin,  but  he  knew  the 
sunken  black  eyes  and  the  hair  that  was  like  his 
own. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  after  a  long  pause,  "  he  is 
a  relative  of  mine,  I  think ; "  and  then,  while  the 
man  lay  waiting  for  his  coffin,  he  propped  himself 
upon  his  arm  and  followed  curiously  the  changes 
made  by  death. 

At  his  first  recognition  there  had  come  only  a 
wave  of  repulsion  —  the  old  disgust  that  had  al- 
ways dogged  the  memory  of  his  father;  then,  with 
the  dead  face  before  his  eyes,  he  was  aware  of 
an  unreasoning  pride  in  the  blood  he  bore  —  in 
the  fact  that  the  soldier  there  had  died  pure  game 
to  the  last.  It  was  as  a  braggart  and  a  bully  that  he 
had  always  thought  of  him;  now  he  knew  that  at 
least  he  was  not  a  craven  —  that  he  could  take 
blows  as  he  dealt  them,  from  the  shoulder  out.  He 
had  hated  his  father,  he  told  himself  unflinchingly, 
and  he  did  not  love  him  now.  Had  the  dead  man 
opened  his  eyes  he  could  have  struck  him  back 
again  with  his  mother's  memory  for  a  weapon. 
There  had  been  war  between  them  to  the  grave, 
and  yet,  despite  himself,  he  knew  that  he  had  lost 
his  old  boyish  shame  of  the  Mont  joy  blood.  With 
the  instinct  of  his  race  to  glorify  physical  courage, 
he  had  seen  the  shadow  of  his  boyhood  loom  from 
the  petty  into  the  gigantic.  Jack  Mont  joy  may  have 
been  a  scoundrel, — doubtless  he  was  one, — but,  with 
all  his  misdeeds  on  his  shoulders,  he  had  lived  pure 
game  to  the  end. 

A  fresh  bleeding  of  Dan's  wound  brought  on  a 
sudden   faintness,   and   he   fell   heavily   upon   Big 


The  Montjoy  Blood  Again         377 

Abel's  arm.  With  the  pain  a  groan  hovered  an 
instant  on  his  lips,  but,  closing  his  eyes,  he  bit  it 
back  and  lay  silent.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
there  had  come  to  him,  like  an  impulse,  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  must  not  lower  his  father's  name. 


BOOK   FOURTH 

THE   RETURN   OF   THE   VANQUISHED 


BOOK   FOURTH 

THE   RETURN  OF  THE  VANQUISHED 

I 

THE   RAGGED   ARMY 

The  brigade  had  halted  to  gather  rations  in  a 
corn  field  beside  the  road,  and  Dan,  lying  with  his 
head  in  the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  sumach,  hungrily 
regarded  the  "  roasting  ears  "  which  Pinetop  had 
just  rolled  in  the  ashes.  A  malarial  fever,  which 
he  had  contracted  in  the  swamps  of  the  Chicka- 
hominy,  had  wasted  his  vitality  until  he  had  begun 
to  look  like  the  mere  shadow  of  himself ;  gaunt,  un- 
washed, hollow-eyed,  yet  wearing  his  torn  gray 
jacket  and  brimless  cap  as  jauntily  as  he  had  once 
worn  his  embroidered  waistcoats.  His  hand  trem- 
bled as  he  reached  out  for  his  share  of  the  green 
corn,  but  weakened  as  he  was  by  sickness  and 
starvation,  the  defiant  humour  shone  all  the  clearer 
in  his  eyes.  He  had  still  the  heart  for  a  whistle, 
Bland  had  said  last  night,  looking  at  him  a  little 
wistfully. 

As  he  lay  there,  with  the  dusty  sumach  shrub 
above  him,  he  saw  the  ragged  army  pushing  on  into 
the  turnpike  that   led  to   Maryland.      Lean,   sun- 
scorched,  half-clothed,  dropping  its  stragglers  like 
381 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 17 


382  The  Battle-Ground 

leaves  upon  the  roadside,  marching  in  borrowed 
rags,  and  fighting  with  the  weapons  of  its  enemies, 
dirty,  fevered,  choking  with  the  hot  dust  of  the 
turnpike  —  it  still  pressed  onward,  bending  like  a 
blade  beneath  Lee's  hand.  For  this  army  of  the 
sick,  fighting  slow  agues,  old  wounds,  and  the  sharp 
diseases  that  follow  on  green  food,  was  becoming 
suddenly  an  army  of  invasion.  The  road  led  into 
Maryland,  and  the  brigades  swept  into  it,  jesting 
like  schoolboys  on  a  frolic. 

Dan,  stretched  exhausted  beside  the  road,  ate 
his  ear  of  corn,  and  idly  watched  the  regiment  that 
was  marching  by  —  marching,  not  with  the  even 
tread  of  regular  troops,  but  with  scattered  ranks 
and  broken  column,  each  man  limping  in  worn-out 
shoes,  at  his  own  pace.  They  were  not  fancy  sol- 
diers, these  men,  he  felt  as  he  looked  after  them. 
They  were  not  imposing  upon  the  road,  but  when 
their  chance  came  to  fight,  they  would  be  very  sure 
to  take  it.  Here  and  there  a  man  still  carried  his  old 
squirrel  musket,  with  a  rusted  skillet  handle  stuck 
into  the  barrel,  but  when  before  many  days  the  skil- 
let would  be  withdrawn,  the  load  might  be  relied 
upon  to  wing  straight  home  a  little  later.  On  wet 
nights  those  muskets  would  stand  upright  upon  their 
bayonets,  with  muzzles  in  the  earth,  while  the  rain 
dripped  off,  and  on  dry  days  they  would  carry  aloft 
the  full  property  of  the  mess,  which  had  dwindled  to 
a  frying  pan  and  an  old  quart  cup;  though  seldom 
cleaned,  they  were  always  fit  for  service  —  or  if 
they  went  foul  what  was  easier  than  to  pick  up  a 
less  trusty  one  upon  the  field.  On  the  other  side 
hung  the  blankets,  tied  at  the  ends  and  worn  like 


The   Ragged  Army  383 

a  sling  from  the  left  shoulder.  The  haversack  was 
gone  and  with  it  the  knapsack  and  the  overcoat. 
When  a  man  wanted  a  change  of  linen  he  knelt 
down  and  washed  his  single  shirt  in  the  brook,  sit- 
ting in  the  sun  while  it  dried  upon  the  bank.  If  it 
was  long  in  drying  he  put  it  on,  wet  as  it  was,  and 
ran  ahead  to  fall  in  with  his  company.  Where  the 
discipline  was  easy,  each  infantryman  might  become 
his  own  commissary. 

Dan  finished  his  corn,  threw  the  husks  over  his 
head,  and  sat  up,  looking  idly  at  the  irregular  ranks. 
He  was  tired  and  sick,  and  after  a  short  rest  it 
seemed  all  the  harder  to  get  up  and  take  the  road 
again.  As  he  sat  there  he  began  to  bandy  words 
with  the  sergeant  of  a  Maryland  regiment  that  was 
passing. 

"  Hello !  what  brigade  ?  "  called  the  sergeant  in 
friendly  tones.  He  looked  fat  and  well  fed,  and 
Dan  felt  this  to  be  good  ground  for  resentment. 

"  General  Straggler's  brigade,  but  it's  none  of 
your  business,"  he  promptly  retorted. 

"  General  Straggler  has  a  pretty  God-forsaken 
crew,"  taunted  the  sergeant,  looking  back  as  he 
stepped  on  briskly.  "  I've  seen  his  regiments  lining 
the  road  clear  up  from  Chantilly." 

"  If  you'd  kept  your  fat  eyes  open  at  Manassas 
the  other  day,  you'd  have  seen  them  lining  the  bat- 
tle-field as  well,"  pursued  Dan  pleasantly,  chewing 
a  long  green  blade  of  corn.  "  Old  Stonewall  saw 
them,  I'll  be  bound.  If  General  Straggler  didn't 
win  that  battle  I'd  like  to  know  who  did." 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  responded  the  sergeant,  and  was 
out  of  hearing. 


384  The  Battle- Ground 

The  regiment  passed  by  and  another  took  its 
place.  "  Was  that  General  Lee  you  were  yelling  at 
down  there,  boys  ?  "  inquired  Dan  politely,  smiling 
the  smile  of  a  man  who  sits  by  the  roadside  and 
sees  another  sweating  on  the  march. 

"  Naw,  that  warn't  Marse  Robert,"  replied  a 
private,  limping  with  bare  feet  over  the  border  of 
dried  grass.  "  'Twas  a  blamed,  blank,  bottomless 
well,  that's  what  'twas.  I  let  my  canteen  down 
on  a  string  and  it  never  came  back  no  mo'." 

Dan  lowered  his  eyes,  and  critically  regarded  the 
tattered  banner  of  the  regiment,  covered  with  the 
names  of  the  battles  over  which  it  had  hung  un- 
furled. "  Tennessee,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  asked,  follow- 
ing the  flag. 

The  private  shook  his  head,  and  stooped  to  re- 
move a  pebble  from  between  his  toes. 

"  Naw,  we  ain't  from  Tennessee,"  he  drawled. 
"  We've  had  the  measles  —  that's  what's  the  matter 
with  us." 

"  You  show  it,  by  Jove,"  said  Dan,  laughing. 
"  Step  quickly,  if  you  please  —  this  is  the  cleanest 
brigade  in  the  army." 

"  Huh ! "  exclaimed  the  private,  eying  them 
with  contempt.  "  You  look  like  it,  don't  you,  sonny  ? 
Why,  I'd  ketch  the  mumps  jest  to  look  at  sech  a  set 
o'  rag-a-mufiins !  " 

He  went  on,  still  grunting,  while  Dan  rose  to  his 
feet  and  slung  his  blanket  from  his  shoulder. 
"  Look  here,  does  anybody  know  where  we're  go- 
ing anyway  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  blue  sky. 

"  I  seed  General  Jackson  about  two  miles  up," 
replied   a   passing   countryman,    who   had   led   his 


The  Ragged  Army  385 

horse  into  the  corn  field.  "  Whoopee !  he  was  going 
at  a  God-a'mighty  pace,  I  tell  you.  If  he  keeps 
that  up  he'll  be  over  the  Potomac  before  sunset." 

"  Then  we  are  going  into  Maryland !  "  cried  Jack 
Powell,  jumping  to  his  feet.  "  Hurrah  for  Mary- 
land !    We're  going  to  Maryland,  God  bless  her !  " 

The  shouts  passed  down  the  road  and  the  Mary- 
land regiment  in  front  sent  back  three  rousing 
cheers. 

"  By  Jove,  I  hope  I'll  find  some  shoes  there," 
said  Dan,  shaking  the  sand  from  his  ragged  boots, 
and  twisting  the  shreds  of  his  stockings  about  his 
feet.  "  I've  had  to  punch  holes  in  my  soles  and  lace 
them  with  shoe  strings  to  the  upper  leather,  or 
they'd  have  dropped  off  long  ago." 

"  Well,  I'll  begin  by  making  love  to  a  seamstress 
when  I'm  over  the  Potomac,"  remarked  Welch, 
getting  upon  his  feet.  "  I'm  decidedly  in  need  of 
a  couple  of  patches." 

"  You  make  love !  You !  "  roared  Jack  Powell. 
"  Why,  you're  the  kind  of  thing  they  set  up  in 
Maryland  to  keep  the  crows  away.  Now  if  it  were 
Beau,  there,  I  see  some  sense  in  it  —  for,  I'll  be 
bound,  he's  slain  more  hearts  than  Yankees  in  this 
campaign.  The  women  always  drain  out  their  last 
drop  of  buttermilk  when  he  goes  on  a  forage." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  set  up  to  be  a  popinjay,"  retorted 
Welch  witheringly. 

"  Popinjay,  the  devil !  "  scowled  Dan,  "  who's 
a  popinjay?  " 

"  Wall,  I'd  like  a  pair  of  good  stout  breeches," 
peacefully  interposed  Pinetop.  "  I've  been  backin' 
up  agin  the  fence  when  I  seed  a  lady  comin'  for  the 


386  The  Battle-Ground 

last  three  weeks,  an'  whenever  I  set  down,  I'm  plum 
feared  to  git  up  agin.  What  with  all  the  other 
things,  —  the  Yankees,  and  the  chills,  and  the 
measles,  —  it's  downright  hard  on  a  man  to  have 
to  be  a-feared  of  his  own  breeches." 

Dan  looked  round  with  sympathy.  "  That's  true ; 
it's  a  shame,"  he  admitted  smiling.  "  Look  here, 
boys,  has  anybody  got  an  extra  pair  of  breeches  ?  " 

A  howl  of  derision  went  up  from  the  regiment 
as  it  fell  into  ranks. 

"  Has  anybody  got  a  few  grape-leaves  to  spare  ? " 
it  demanded  in  a  high  chorus. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  responded  Dan  promptly.  "  Come 
on,  Pinetop,  we'll  clothe  ourselves  to-morrow." 

The  brigade  formed  and  swung  off  rapidly  along 
the  road,  where  the  dust  lay  like  gauze  upon  the 
sunshine.  At  the  end  of  a  mile  somebody  stopped 
and  cried  out  excitedly.  "  Look  here,  boys,  the  per- 
simmons on  that  tree  over  thar  are  gittin'  'mos  fit  to 
eat.  I  can  see  'em  turnin',"  and  with  the  words 
the  column  scattered  like  chaff  across  the  field. 
But  the  first  man  to  reach  the  tree  came  back  with 
a  wry  face,  and  fell  to  swearing  at  '  the  darn  fool 
who  could  eat  persimmons  before  frost." 

"  Thar's  a  tree  in  my  yard  that  gits  ripe  about 
September,"  remarked  Pinetop,  as  he  returned  de- 
jectedly across  the  waste.  "  Ma  she  begins  to  dry 
'em  'fo'  the  frost  sets  in." 

"  Oh,  well,  we'll  get  a  square  meal  in  the  morn- 
ing," responded  Dan,  growing  cheerful  as  he 
dreamed  of  hospitable  Maryland. 

Some  hours  later,  in  the  warm  dusk,  they  went 
into    bivouac    among    the    trees,    and,    in    a   little 


The  Ragged  Army  387 

while,  the  campfires  made  a  red  glow  upon  the  twi- 
light. 

Pinetop,  with  a  wooden  bucket  on  his  arm,  had 
plunged  off  in  search  of  water,  and  Dan  and  Jack 
Powell  were  sent,  in  the  interests  of  the  mess,  to 
forage  through  the  surrounding  country. 

"  There's  a  fat  farmer  about  ten  miles  down,  I 
saw  him,"  remarked  a  lazy  smoker,  by  way  of  polite 
suggestion. 

"  Ten  miles  ?  Well,  of  all  the  confounded  impu- 
dence," retorted  Jack,  as  he  strolled  off  with  Dan 
into  the  darkness. 

For  a  time  they  walked  in  silence,  depressed  by 
hunger  and  the  exhaustion  of  the  march ;  then  Dan 
broke  into  a  whistle,  and  presently  they  found 
themselves  walking  in  step  with  the  merry  air. 

"  Where  are  your  thoughts,  Beau  ?  "  asked  Jack 
suddenly,  turning  to  look  at  him  by  the  faint 
starlight. 

Dan's  whistle  stopped  abruptly. 

"  On  a  dish  of  fried  chicken  and  a  pot  of  coffee," 
he  replied  at  once. 

"  What's  become  of  the  waffles  ? "  demanded 
Jack  indignantly.  "  I  say,  old  man,  do  you  remem- 
ber the  sinful  waste  on  those  blessed  Christmas  Eves 
at  Chericoke?  I've  been  trying  to  count  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  meat  —  roast  beef,  roast  pig,  roast 
goose,  roast  turkey  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  just  thinking  that  if  I  ever  reach 
home  alive  I'll  deliver  the  Ma j  or  a  lecture  on  his 
extravagance." 

"  It  isn't  the  Major;  it's  grandma,"  groaned  Dan 


388  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Oh,  that  queen  among  women ! "  exclaimed 
Jack  fervently;  "but  the  wines  are  the  Major's,  I 
reckon,  —  it  seems  to  me  I  recall  some  port  of  which 
he  was  vastly  proud." 

Dan  delivered  a  blow  that  sent  Jack  on  his  knees 
in  the  stubble  of  an  old  corn  field. 

"  If  you  want  to  make  me  eat  you,  you're  going 
straight  about  it,"  he  declared. 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  Jack,  struggling  to  his  feet, 
"  there's  a  light  over  there  among  the  trees,"  and 
they  walked  on  briskly  up  a  narrow  country  lane 
which  led,  after  several  turnings,  to  a  large  frame 
house  well  hidden  from  the  road. 

In  the  doorway  a  woman  was  standing,  with  a 
lamp  held  above  her  head,  and  when  she  saw  them 
she  gave  a  little  breathless  call. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jim  ?  " 

Dan  went  up  the  steps  and  stood,  cap  in  hand, 
before  her.  The  lamplight  was  full  upon  his  ragged 
clothes  and  upon  his  pallid  face  with  its  strong 
high-bred  lines  of  mouth  and  chin. 

"  I  thought  you  were  my  husband,"  said  the 
woman,  blushing  at  her  mistake.  "  If  you  want 
food  you  are  welcome  to  the  little  that  I  have 
—  it  is  very  little."  She  led  the  way  into  the 
house,  and  motioned,  with  a  pitiable  gesture,  to  a 
table  that  was  spread  in  the  centre  of  the  sitting 
room. 

"  Will  you  sit  down  ? "  she  asked,  and  at  the 
words,  a  child  in  the  corner  of  the  room  set  up 
a  frightened  cry. 

"  It's  my  supper  —  I  want  my  supper,"  wailed 
the  child. 


The  Ragged  Army  389 

"  Hush,  dear,"  said  the  woman,  "  they  are  our 
soldiers." 

"  Our  soldiers,"  repeated  the  child,  staring,  with  its 
thumb  in  its  mouth  and  the  tear-drops  on  its  cheeks. 

For  an  instant  Dan  looked  at  them  as  they  stood 
there,  the  woman  holding  the  child  .in  her  arms, 
and  biting  her  thin  lips  from  which  hunger  had 
drained  all  the  red.  There  was  scant  food  on  the 
table,  and  as  his  gaze  went  back  to  it,  it  seemed 
to  him  that,  for  the  first  time,  he  grasped  the 
full  meaning  of  a  war  for  the  people  of  the  soil. 
This  was  the  real  thing  —  not  the  waving  banners, 
not  the  bayonets,  not  the  fighting  in  the  ranks. 

His  eyes  were  on  the  woman,  and  she  smiled  as 
all  women  did  upon  whom  he  looked  in  kindness. 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  have  mistaken  our  pur- 
pose —  we  are  not  as  hungry  as  we  look,"  he  said, 
bowing  in  his  ragged  jacket.  "  We  were  sent 
merely  to  ask  you  if  you  were  in  need  of  a  guard 
for  your  smokehouse.  My  Colonel  hopes  that  you 
have  not  suffered  at  our  hands." 

"  There  is  nothing  left,"  replied  the  woman  mys- 
tified, yet  relieved.  "  There  is  nothing  to  guard  ex- 
cept the  children  and  myself,  and  we  are  safe,  I 
think.  Your  Colonel  is  very  kind  —  I  thank  him ;  " 
and  as  they  went  out  she  lighted  them  with  her 
lamp  from  the  front  steps. 

An  hour  later  they  returned  to  camp  with  aching 
limbs  and  empty  hands. 

"  There's  nothing  above  ground,"  they  reported, 
flinging  themselves  beside  the  fire,  though  the 
night  was  warm.  "  We've  scoured  the  whole  coun- 
try and  the  Federals  have  licked  it  as  clean  as  a 


390  The  Battle-Ground 

plate  before  us.  Bless  my  soul !  what's  that  I  smell  ? 
Is  this  heaven,  boys  ?  " 

"Licked  it  clean,  have  they?"  jeered  the  mess. 
"  Well,  they  left  a  sheep  anyhow  loose  somewhere. 
Beau's  darky  hadn't  gone  a  hundred  yards  before 
he  found  one." 

"  Big  Abel?  You  don't  say  so?"  whistled  Dan, 
in  astonishment,  regarding  the  mutton  suspended 
on  ramrods  above  the  coals. 

"  Well,  suh,  'twuz  des  like  dis,"  explained  Big 
Abel,  poking  the  roast  with  a  small  stick.  "  I  know  I 
ain'  got  a  bit  a  bus'ness  ter  shoot  dat  ar  sheep  wid 
my  ole  gun,  but  de  sheep  she  ain'  got  no  better 
bus'ness  strayin'  roun'  loose  needer.  She  sutney 
wuz  a  dang'ous  sheep,  dat  she  wuz.  I  'uz  des 
a-bleeged  ter  put  a  bullet  in  her  haid  er  she'd  er  hed 
my  blood  sho'." 

As  the  shout  went  up  he  divided  the  legs  of  mut- 
ton into  shares  and  went  off  to  eat  his  own  on 
the  dark  edge  of  the  wood. 

A  little  later  he  came  back  to  hang  Dan's  cap  and 
jacket  on  the  branches  of  a  young  pine  tree.  When 
he  had  arranged  them  with  elaborate  care,  he  raked 
a  bed  of  tags  together,  and  covered  them  with  an 
army  blanket  stamped  in  the  centre  with  the  half 
obliterated  letters  U.  S. 

"  That's  a  good  boy,  Big  Abel,  go  to  sleep,"  said 
Dan,  flinging  himself  down  upon  the  pine-tag  bed. 
"  Strange  how  much  spirit  a  sheep  can  put  into  a 
man.  I  wouldn't  run  now  if  I  saw  Pope's  whole 
army  coming." 

Turning  over  he  lay  sleepily  gazing  into  the  blue 
dusk  illuminated  with  the  campfires  which  were 


The  Ragged  Army  391 

slowly  dying  down.  Around  him  he  heard  the  sub- 
dued murmur  of  the  mess,  deep  and  full,  though  ris- 
ing now  and  then  into  a  clearer  burst  of  laughter. 
The  men  were  smoking  their  brier-root  pipes  about 
the  embers,  leaning  against  the  dim  bodies  of  the 
pines,  while  they  discussed  the  incidents  of  the  march 
with  a  touch  of  the  unconquerable  humour  of  the 
Confederate  soldier.  Somebody  had  a  fresh  joke 
on  the  quartermaster,  and  everybody  hoped  great 
things  of  the  campaign  into  Maryland. 

"  I  pray  it  may  bring  me  a  pair  of  shoes,"  mut- 
tered Dan,  as  he  dropped  off  into  slumber. 

The  next  day,  with  bands  playing  "  Maryland, 
My  Maryland,"  and  the  Southern  Cross  taking  the 
September  wind,  the  ragged  army  waded  the  Poto- 
mac, and  passed  into  other  fields. 


II 

A  STRAGGLER   FROM    THE  RANKS 

In  two  weeks  it  swept  back,  wasted,  stub- 
born, hungrier  than  ever.  On  a  sultry  Septem- 
ber afternoon,  Dan,  who  had  gone  down  with  a 
sharp  return  of  fever,  was  brought,  with  a  wagon- 
ful  of  the  wounded,  and  placed  on  a  heap  of  straw 
on  the  brick  pavement  of  Shepherdstown.  For  two 
days  he  had  been  delirious,  and  Big  Abel  had  held 
him  to  his  bed  during  the  long  nights  when  the 
terrible  silence  seemed  filled  with  the  noise  of 
battle;  but,  as  he  was  lifted  from  the  wagon  and 
laid  upon  the  sidewalk,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  spoke 
in  a  natural  voice. 

"  What's  all  this  fuss,  Big  Abel  ?  Have  I  been 
out  of  my  head  ? " 

"  You  sutney  has,  suh.  You've  been  a-prayin' 
en  shoutin'  so  loud  dese  las'  tree  days  dat  I  wun- 
ner  de  Lawd  ain'  done  shet  yo'  mouf  des  ter  git  rid 
er  you." 

"  Praying,  have  I  ?  "  said  Dan.  "  Well,  I  declare. 
That  reminds  me  of  Mr.  Blake,  Big  Abel.  I'd  like 
to  know  what's  become  of  him." 

Big  Abel  shook  his  head ;  he  was  in  no  pleasant 
humour,  for  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  drawn 
tightly  down  and  there  was  a  rut  between  his 
bushy  eyebrows. 

39» 


A  Straggler  from  the  Ranks         393 

"  I  nuver  seed  no  sich  place  es  dis  yer  town  in 
all  my  lifetime,"  he  grumbled.  "  Dey  des  let  us 
lie  roun'  loose  on  de  bricks  same  es  ef  we  ain'  been 
fittin'  fur  'em  twel  we  ain'  nuttin'  but  skin  en  bone. 
Dose  two  wagon  loads  er  cut-up  sodgers  hev  done 
fill  de  houses  so  plum  full  dat  dey  sticks  spang 
thoo  de  cracks  er  de  do's.  Don'  talk  ter  me,  suh, 
I  ain'  got  no  use  fur  dis  wah,  noways,  caze  hit's  a 
low-lifeted  one,  dat's  what  'tis ;  en  ef  you'd  a  min' 
w'at  I  tell  you,  you'd  be  settin'  up  at  home  right  dis 
minute  wid  ole  Miss  a-feedin'  you  on  br'ile  chicken. 
You  may  fit  all  you  wanter  —  I  ain'  sayin'  nuttin' 
agin  yo'  fittin  ef  yo'  spleen  hit's  up  —  but  you  could 
er  foun'  somebody  ter  fit  wid  back  at  home  widout 
comin'  out  hyer  ter  git  yo'se'f  a-jumbled  up  wid  all 
de  po'  white  trash  in  de  county.  Dis  yer  wah  ain' 
de  kin'  I'se  use  ter,  caze  hit  jumbles  de  quality  en 
de  trash  tergedder  des  like  dey  wuz  bo'n  blood  kin." 

"  What  are  you  muttering  about  now,  Big  Abel  ?  " 
broke  in  Dan  impatiently.  "  For  heaven's  sake  stop 
and  find  me  a  bed  to  lie  on.  Are  they  going  to  leave 
me  out  here  in  the  street  on  this  pile  of  straw  ?  " 

"  De  Lawd  he  knows,"  hopelessly  responded  Big 
Abel.  "  Dey's  a-fixin'  places,  dey  sez,  dat's  why  all 
dese  folks  is  a-runnin'  dis  away  en  dat  away  like 
chickens  wid  dere  haids  chopped  off.  'Fo'  you  hed 
yo'  sense  back  dey  wanted  ter  stick  you  over  yonder 
in  dat  ole  blue  shanty  wid  all  de  skin  peelin'  off 
hit,  but  I  des  put  my  foot  right  down  en  'lowed 
dey  'ouldn't.  W'at  you  wan'  ketch  mo'n  you  got 
fur?" 

"  But  I  can't  stay  here,"  weakly  remonstrated 
Dan,  "  and  I  must  have  something  to  eat  —  I  tell 


394  'Fhe  Battle-Ground 

you  I  could  eat  nails.  Bring  me  anything  on  God's 
earth  except  green  corn." 

The  street  was  filled  with  women,  and  one  of 
them,  passing  with  a  bowl  of  gruel  in  her  hand, 
came  back  and  held  it  to  his  lips. 

"  You  poor  fellow ! "  she  said  impulsively,  in  a 
voice  that  was  rich  with  sympathy.  "  Why,  I  don't 
believe  you've  had  a  bite  for  a  month." 

Dan  smiled  at  her  from  his  heap  of  straw  —  an 
unkempt  haggard  figure. 

"  Not  from  so  sweet  a  hand,"  he  responded,  his 
old  spirit  rising  strong  above  misfortune. 

His  voice  held  her,  and  she  regarded  him  with 
a  pensive  face.  She  had  known  men  in  her  day, 
which  had  declined  long  since  toward  its  evening, 
and  with  the  unerring  instinct  of  her  race  she  knew 
that  the  one  before  her  was  well  worth  the  saving. 
Gallantry  that  could  afford  to  jest  in  rags  upon 
a  pile  of  straw  appealed  to  her  Southern  blood  as 
little  short  of  the  heroic.  She  saw  the  pinch  of 
hunger  about  the  mouth,  and  she  saw,  too,  the 
singular  beauty  which  lay,  obscured  to  less  keen 
eyes,  beneath  the  fever  and  the  dirt. 

"  The  march  must  have  been  fearful  —  I  couldn't 
have  stood  it,"  she  said,  half  to  test  the  man. 

Rising  to  the  challenge,  he  laughed  outright. 
"  Well,  since  you  mention  it,  it  wasn't  just  the 
thing  for  a  lady,"  he  answered,  true  to  his  salt. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  in  silence,  then 
turned  regretfully  to  Big  Abel. 

"  The  houses  have  filled  up  already,  I  believe,"  she 
said,  "  but  there  is  a  nice  dry  stable  up  the  street 
which  has  just  been  cleaned  out  for  a  hospital. 


A  Straggler  from  the   Ranks         395 

Carry  your  master  up  the  next  square  and  then 
into  the  alley  a  few  steps  where  you  will  find  a 
nhysician.    I  am  going  now  for  food  and  bandages." 

She  hurried  on,  and  Big  Abel,  seizing  Dan  be- 
neath the  arms,  dragged  him  breathlessly  along  the 
street. 

"  A  stable !  Huh !  Hit's  a  wunner  dey  ain'  ax  us 
ter  step  right  inter  a  nice  clean  pig  pen,"  he  mut- 
tered as  he  walked  on  rapidly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  stable,  but  this  pace  will 
kill  me,"  groaned  Dan.  "  Not  so  fast,  Big  Abel, 
not  so  fast." 

"  Dis  yer  ain'  no  time  to  poke,"  replied  Big  Abel, 
sternly,  and  lifting  the  young  man  in  his  arms,  he 
carried  him  bodily  into  the  stable  and  laid  him 
on  a  clean-smelling  bed  of  straw.  The  place  was 
large  and  well  lighted,  and  Dan,  as  he  turned  over, 
heaved  a  grateful  sigh. 

"  Let  me  sleep  —  only  let  me  sleep,"  he  implored 
weakly. 

And  for  two  days  he  slept,  despite  the  noise  about 
him.  Dressed  in  clean  clothes,  brought  by  the  lady 
of  the  morning,  and  shaved  by  the  skilful  hand 
of  Big  Abel,  he  buried  himself  in  the  fresh  straw 
and  dreamed  of  Chericoke  and  Betty.  The  coil  of 
battle  swept  far  from  him;  he  heard  none  of 
the  fret  and  rumour  that  filled  the  little  street ;  even 
the  moans  of  the  men  beneath  the  surgeons'  knives 
did  not  penetrate  to  where  he  lay  sunk  in  the 
stupor  of  perfect  contentment.  It  was  not  until 
the  morning  of  the  third  day,  when  the  winds  that 
blew  over  the  Potomac  brought  the  sounds  of  battle, 
that  he  was  shocked  back  into  a  troubled  conscious- 


396  The  Battle- Ground 

ness  of  his  absence  from  the  army.  Then  he  heard 
the  voices  of  the  guns  calling  to  him  from  across 
the  river,  and  once  or  twice  he  struggled  up  to 
answer. 

"  I  must  go,  Big  Abel  —  they  are  in  need  of  me," 
he  said.    "  Listen!   don't  you  hear  them  calling?" 

"  Go  way  fom  yer,  Marse  Dan,  dey's  des  a-firin' 
at  one  anurr,"  returned  Big  Abel,  but  Dan  still 
tossed  impatiently,  his  strained  eyes  searching- 
through  the  door  into  the  cloudy  light  of  the  alley. 
It  was  a  sombre  day,  and  the  oppressive  atmosphere 
seemed  heavy  with  the  smoke  of  battle. 

"  If  I  only  knew  how  it  was  going,"  he  mur- 
mured, in  the  anguish  of  uncertainty.  "  Hush ! 
isn't  that  a  cheer,  Big  Abel  ?  " 

"I  don'  heah  nuttin'  but  de  crowin'  er  a  rooster 
on  de  fence." 

"  There  it  is  again !  "  cried  Dan,  starting  up.  "  I 
can  swear  it  is  our  side.  Listen  —  go  to  the  door  — 
by  God,  man,  that's  our  yell !  Ah,  there  comes 
the  rattle  of  the  muskets  —  don't  you  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Lawd,  Marse  Dan,  Fse  done  hyern  dat  soun' 
twel  I'm  plum  sick  er  it,"  responded  Big  Abel, 
carefully  measuring  out  a  dose  of  arsenic,  which 
had  taken  the  place  of  quinine  in  a  country  where 
medicine  was  becoming  as  scarce  as  food.  "  You 
des  swallow  dis  yer  stuff  right  down  en  tu'n  over  en 
go  fas'  asleep  agin." 

Taking  the  glass  with  trembling  hands,  Dan 
drained  it  eagerly. 

"  It's  the  artillery  now,"  he  said,  quivering  with 
excitement.  "  The  explosions  come  so  fast  I  can 
hardly  separate  them.     I  never  knew  how  long 


A  Straggler  from  the  Ranks        397 

shells  could  screech  before  —  do  you  mean  to  say 
they  are  really  across  the  river?  Go  into  the  alley, 
Big  Abel,  and  tell  me  if  you  see  the  smoke." 

Big  Abel  went  out  and  returned,  after  a  few 
moments,  with  the  news  that  the  smoke  could  be 
plainly  seen,  he  was  told,  from  the  upper  stories. 
There  was  such  a  crowd  in  the  street,  he  added, 
that  he  could  barely  get  along  —  nobody  knew  any- 
thing, but  the  wounded,  who  were  arriving  in  great 
numbers,  reported  that  General  Lee  could  hold 
his  ground  "  against  Lucifer  and  all  his  angels." 

"  Hold  his  ground,  "  groaned  Dan,  with  feverish 
enthusiasm,  "  why,  he  could  hold  a  hencoop,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  against  the  whole  of  North 
America!  Oh,  but  this  is  worse  than  fighting.  I 
must  get  up !  " 

"  You  don'  wanter  git  out  dar  in  dat  mess  er 
skeered  rabbits,"  returned  Big  Abel.  "  You  cyarn 
see  yo'  han'  befo'  you  fur  de  way  dey's  w'igglin' 
roun'  de  street,  en  w'at's  mo'  you  cyarn  heah  yo' 
own  w'uds  fur  de  racket  dey's  a-kickin'  up.  Des 
lis'en  ter  'em  now,  des  lis'en ! " 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  tell  our  guns,"  murmured 
Dan  at  each  quick  explosion.  "  Hush !  there  comes 
the  cheer,  now  —  somebody's  charging !  It  may  be 
our  brigade,  Big  Abel,  and  I  not  in  it." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  back  from  sheer  ex- 
haustion, still  following,  as  he  lay  there,  the  battalion 
that  had  sprung  forward  with  that  charging  yell. 
Gray,  obscured  in  smoke,  curved  in  the  centre,  un- 
even as  the  Confederate  line  of  battle  always  was 
■ — he  saw  it  sweep  onward  over  the  September 
field.    At  the  moment  to  have  had  his  place  in  that 


398  The  Battle-Ground 

charge  beyond  the  river,  he  would  have  cheerfully 
met  his  death  when  the  day  was  over. 

Through  the  night  he  slept  fitfully,  awaking 
from  time  to  time  to  ask  eagerly  if  it  were  not  al- 
most daybreak;  then  with  the  dawn  the  silence 
that  had  fallen  over  the  Potomac  seemed  to  leave 
a  greater  blank  to  be  filled  with  the  noises  along 
the  Virginia  shore.  The  hurrying  footsteps  in  the 
street  outside  kept  up  ceaselessly  until  the  dark 
again;  mingled  with  the  cries  of  the  wounded  and 
the  prayers  of  the  frightened  he  heard  always  that 
eager,  tireless  passing  of  many  feet.  So  familiar  it 
became,  so  constant  an  accompaniment  to  his  rest- 
less thoughts,  that  when  at  last  the  day  wore  out 
and  the  streets  grew  empty,  he  found  himself  listen- 
ing for  the  steps  of  a  passer-by  as  intently  as  he  had 
listened  in  the  morning  for  the  renewed  clamour 
of  battle  on  the  Maryland  fields. 

The  stir  of  the  retreat  did  not  reach  to  the  stable 
where  he  lay ;  all  night  the  army  was  recrossing 
the  Potomac,  but  to  Dan,  tossing  on  his  bed  of 
straw,  it  lighted  the  victors'  watch-fires  on  the  dis- 
puted ground.  He  had  not  seen  the  shattered  line 
of  battle  as  it  faced  disease,  exhaustion,  and  an  army 
stronger  by  double  numbers,  nor  had  he  seen  the 
gray  soldiers  lying  row  on  row  where  they  had  kept 
the  "  sunken  road."  Thick  as  the  trampled  corn 
beneath  them,  with  the  dust  covering  them  like 
powder,  and  the  scattered  fence  rails  lying  across 
their  faces,  the  dead  men  of  his  own  brigade  were 
stretched  upon  the  hillside.  The  river  shut  these 
things  from  his  knowledge,  but  through  the  long 
night  he  lay  wakeful  in  the  stable,  watching  with 


A  Straggler  from  the   Ranks         399 

fevered  eyes  the  tallow  dips  that  burned  dimly  on 
the  wall. 

In  the  morning  a  nurse,  coming  with  a  bowl  of 
soup,  brought  the  news  that  Lee's  army  was  again 
on  Virginia  soil. 

"  McClellan  has  opened  a  battery,"  she  explained, 
"  that's  the  meaning  of  this  fearful  noise  —  did  you 
ever  hear  such  sounds  in  your  life  ?  Yes,  the  shells 
are  flying  over  the  town,  but  they've  done  no  harm 
as  yet." 

She  hastened  off,  and  a  little  later  a  dishevelled 
straggler,  with  a  cloth  about  his  forehead,  burst  in 
at  the  open  door. 

"  They're  shelling  the  town,"  he  cried,  waving 
a  dirty  hand,  "  an'  you'll  be  prisoners  in  an  hour 
if  you  don't  git  up  and  move.  The  Yankees  are 
comin',  I  seed  'em  cross  the  river.  Lee's  cut  up, 
I  tell  you,  he's  left  half  his  army  dead  in  Mary- 
land. Thar!  they're  shellin'  the  town,sho'  'nough!  " 

With  a  last  wave  he  disappeared  into  the  alley, 
and  Dan  struggled  from  his  bed  and  to  the  door. 
"  Give  me  your  arm,  Big  Abel,"  he  said,  speaking 
in  a  loud  voice  that  he  might  be  heard  above 
the  clamour.  "  I  can't  stay  here.  It  isn't  being 
killed  I  mind,  but,  by  God,  they'll  never  take  me 
prisoner  so  long  as  I'm  alive.  Come  here  and 
give  me  your  arm.  You  aren't  afraid  to  go  out, 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Lawd,Marse  Dan,I'se  mo'  feared  ter  stay  hyer," 
responded  Big  Abel,  with  an  ashen  face.  "  Whar 
we  gwine  hide,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  We  won't  hide,  we'll  run,"  returned  Dan 
gravely,  and  with  his  arm  on  the  negro's  shoulder, 


400  The  Battle-Ground 

he  passed  through  the  alley  out  into  the  street. 
There  the  noise  bewildered  him  an  instant,  and  his 
eyes  went  blind  while  he  grasped  Big  Abel's  sleeve. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  I  can't  see,"  he  said.  "  Now, 
that's  right,  go  on.  By  George,  it's  bedlam  turned 
loose,  let's  get  out  of  it ! " 

"  Dis  away,  Marse  Dan,  dis  away,  step  right 
hyer,"  urged  Big  Abel,  as  he  slipped  through  the 
hurrying  crowd  of  fugitives  which  packed  the  street. 
White  and  black,  men  and  women,  sick  and  well, 
they  swarmed  up  and  down  in  the  dim  sunshine 
beneath  the  flying  shells,  which  skimmed  the  town 
to  explode  in  the  open  fields  beyond.  The  wounded 
were  there  —  all  who  could  stand  upon  their  feet 
or  walk  with  the  aid  of  crutches  —  stumbling  on  in 
a  mad  panic  to  the  meadows  where  the  shells  burst 
or  the  hot  sun  poured  upon  festering  cuts.  Stream- 
ing in  noisy  groups,  the  slaves  fled  after  them,  pray- 
ing, shrieking,  calling  out  that  the  day  of  judg- 
ment was  upon  them,  yet  bearing  upon  their  heads 
whatever  they  could  readily  lay  hands  on  —  bun- 
dles, baskets,  babies,  and  even  clucking  fowls  tied 
by  the  legs.  Behind  them  went  a  troop  of  dogs, 
piercing  the  tumult  with  excited  barks. 

Dan,  fevered,  pallid,  leaning  heavily  upon  Big 
Abel,  passed  unnoticed  amid  a  throng  which  was, 
for  the  most  part,  worse  off  than  himself.  Men  with 
old  wounds  breaking  out  afresh,  or  new  ones  stain- 
ing red  the  cloths  they  wore,  pushed  wildly  by  him, 
making,  as  all  made,  for  the  country  roads  that 
led  from  war  to  peace.  It  was  as  if  the  hospitals  of 
the  world  had  disgorged  themselves  in  the  sun« 
shine  on  the  bright  September  fields. 


A  Straggler  from  the  Ranks         401 

Once,  as  Dan  moved  slowly  on,  he  came  upon  a 
soldier,  with  a  bandage  at  his  throat  sitting  motion- 
less upon  a  rock  beside  a  clump  of  thistles,  and 
moved  by  the  expression  of  supreme  terror  on  the 
man's  face,  he  stopped  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his 
jhoulder. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  friend  —  given  up  ?  "  he 
asked,  and  then  drew  back  quickly  for  the  man 
was  dead.  After  this  they  went  on  more  rapidly, 
flying  from  the  horrors  along  the  road  as  from  the 
screaming  shells  and  the  dread  of  capture. 

At  the  hour  of  sunset,  after  many  halts  upon  the 
way,  they  found  themselves  alone  and  still  facing  the 
open  road.  Since  midday  they  had  stopped  for  din- 
ner with  a  hospitable  farmer,  and,  some  hours  later, 
Big  Abel  had  feasted  on  wild  grapes,  which  he 
had  found  hidden  in  the  shelter  of  a  little  wood. 
In  the  same  wood  a  stream  had  tinkled  over  sil- 
ver rocks,  and  Dan,  lying  upon  the  bank  of  moss, 
had  bathed  his  face  and  hands  in  the  clear  water. 
Now,  while  the  shadows  fell  in  spires  across  the 
road,  they  turned  into  a  quiet  country  lane,  and 
stood  watching  the  sun  as  it  dropped  beyond  the 
gray  stone  wall.  In  the  grass  a  small  insect  broke 
into  a  low  humming,  and  the  silence,  closing  the 
next  instant,  struck  upon  Dan's  ears  like  a  profound 
and  solemn  melody.  He  took  off  his  cap,  and  still 
leaning  upon  Big  Abel,  looked  with  rested  eyes 
on  the  sloping  meadow  brushed  with  the  first  gold 
of  autumn.  Something  that  was  not  unlike  shame 
had  fallen  over  him  —  as  if  the  horrors  of  the  morn- 
ing were  a  mere  vulgar  affront  which  man  had  put 
upon  the  face  of  na*ssr£.    The  very  anguish  of  the 


402  The  Battle-Ground 

day  obtruded  awkwardly  upon  his  thoughts,  and  the 
wild  clamour  he  had  left  behind  him  showed  with 
a  savage  crudeness  against  a  landscape  in  which 
the  dignity  of  earth  —  of  the  fruitful  life  of  seasons 
and  of  crops  —  produced  in  a  solitary  observer  a 
quiet  that  was  not  untouched  by  awe.  Where 
nature  was  suggestive  of  the  long  repose  of  ages, 
the  brief  passions  of  a  single  generation  became  as 
the  flicker  of  a  candle  or  the  glow  of  a  firefly  in 
the  night. 

"  Dat's  a  steep  road  ahead  er  us,"  remarked  Big 
Abel  suddenly,  as  he  stared  into  the  shadows. 

Dan  came  back  with  a  start. 

"  Where  shall  we  sleep  ?  "  he  asked.  "  No,  not 
in  that  field  —  the  open  sky  would  keep  me  awake, 
I  think.    Let's  bivouac  in  the  woods  as  usual." 

They  moved  on  a  little  way  and  entered  a  young 
pine  forest,  where  Big  Abel  gathered  a  handful  of 
branches  and  kindled  a  light  blaze. 

"  You  ain'  never  eat  nigger  food,  is  you,  Marse 
Dan  ?  "  he  inquired  as  he  did  so. 

"  Good  Lord!  "  ejaculated  Dan,  "  ask  a  man  who 
has  lived  two  months  on  corn-field  peas  if  he's  eaten 
hog  food,  and  he'll  be  pretty  sure  to  answer  '  yes.' 
Do  you  know  we  must  have  crawled  about  six 
miles  to-day."  He  lay  back  on  the  pine  tags  and 
stared  straight  above  where  the  long  green  needles 
were  illuminated  on  a  background  of  purple  space. 
A  few  fireflies  made  golden  points  among  the  tree- 
tops. 

"  Well,  I'se  got  a  hunk  er  middlin',"  pursued  Big 
Abel  thoughtfully,  "  a  strip  er  fat  en  a  strip  er  lean 
des  like  hit  oughter  be  —  but  a  nigger  'ooman  she 


A  Straggler  from  the  Ranks        403 

gun  hit  ter  me,  en  I  'low  Ole  Marster  wouldn't  tech 
hit  wid  a  ten-foot  pole."  He  stuck  the  meat  upon 
the  end  of  Dan's  bayonet  and  held  it  before  the 
flames.  "  Ole  Marster  wouldn't  tech  hit,  but  den 
he  ain'  never  had  dese  times." 

"  You're  right,"  replied  Dan  idly,  filling  his  pipe 
and  lighting  it  with  a  small  red  ember,  "  and  all 
things  considered,  I  don't  think  I'll  raise  any  racket 
about  that  middling,  Big  Abel." 

"  Hit  ain'  all  nigger  food,  no  how,"  added  Big 
Abel  reflectively,  "caze  de  'ooman  she  done  steal  it 
f'om  w'ite  folks  sho's  you  bo'n." 

"  I  only  wish  she  had  been  tempted  to  steal  some 
bread  along  with  it,"  rejoined  Dan. 

Big  Abel's  answer  was  to  draw  a  hoecake  wrapped 
in  an  old  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and  place  it 
on  a  short  pine  stump.  Then  he  reached  for  his 
jack-knife  and  carefully  slit  the  hoecake  down  the 
centre,  after  which  he  laid  the  bacon  in  slices  be- 
tween the  crusts. 

"  Did  she  steal  that,  too?  "  inquired  Dan  laughing. 

"  Naw,  suh,  I  stole  dis." 

"  Well,  I  never !  You'll  be  ashamed  to  look  the 
Major  in  the  face  when  the  war  is  over." 

Big  Abel  nodded  gloomily  as  he  passed  the  sand- 
wich to  Dan,  who  divided  it  into  two  equal  por- 
tions. "  Dar's  somebody  got  ter  do  de  stealin'  in  dis 
yer  worl',"  he  returned  with  rustic  philosophy, 
"  des  es  dar's  somebody  got  ter  be  w'ite  folks  en 
somebody  got  ter  be  nigger,  caze  de  same  pusson 
cyarn  be  ner  en  ter  dat's  sho'.  Dar  ain'  '00m  fer  all 
de  yerth  ter  strut  roun'  wid  dey  han's  in  dey  pock- 
ets  en   dey  nose  tu'nt  up   des   caze   dey's   hones'. 


404  The  Battle-Ground 

Lawd,  Lawd,  ef  I'd  a-helt  my  han's  back  f'om 
pickin'  en  stealin'  thoo  dis  yer  wah,  whar  'ould  you 
be  now  —  I  ax  you  dat  ?  " 

Catching  a  dried  branch  the  flame  shot  up  sud- 
denly, and  he  sat  relieved  against  the  glow,  like 
a  gigantic  statue  in  black  basalt. 

"  Well,  all's  fair  in  love  and  war,"  replied  Dan, 
adjusting  himself  to  changed  conditions.  "  If  that 
wasn't  as  true  as  gospel,  I  should  be  dead  to-mor- 
row from  this  fat  bacon." 

Big  Abel  started  up. 

"  Lis' en  ter  dat  ole  hoot  owl,"  he  exclaimed  ex- 
citedly, "  he's  a-settin'  right  over  dar  on  dat  dead 
limb  a-hootin'  us  plum  in  de  mouf.  Ain'  dat  like 
'em,  now?  Is  you  ever  seed  sech  airs  as  dey  put 
on  r 

He  strode  off  into  the  darkness,  and  Dan,  seized 
with  a  sudden  homesickness  for  the  army,  lay  down 
beside  his  musket  and  fell  asleep. 


Ill 


THE    CABIN    IN    THE    WOODS 

At  daybreak  they  took  up  the  march  again,  Dan 
walking  slowly,  with  his  musket  striking  the  ground 
and  his  arm  on  Big  Abel's  shoulder.  Where  the 
lane  curved  in  the  hollow,  they  came  upon  a  white 
cottage,  with  a  woman  milking  a  spotted  cow  in  the 
barnyard.  As  she  caught  sight  of  them,  she  waved 
wildly  with  her  linsey  apron,  holding  the  milk  pail 
carefully  between  her  feet  as  the  spotted  cow  turned 
inquiringly. 

"  Go  'way,  I  don't  want  no  stragglers  here,"  she 
cried,  as  one  having  authority. 

Leaning  upon  the  fence,  Dan  placidly  regarded 
her. 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  commit  an  error  of  judg- 
ment," he  replied,  pausing  to  argue. 

With  the  cow's  udder  in  her  hand  the  woman 
looked  up  from  the  streaming  milk. 

"Well,  ain't  you  stragglers?"  she  inquired. 

Dan  shook  his  head  reproachfully. 

"  What  air  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Beggars,  madam." 

"  I  might  ha'  knowed  it !  "  returned  the  woman, 
with  a  snort.  "  Well,  whatever  you  air,  you  kin  jest 
as  eas'ly  keep  on  along  that  thar  road.  I  ain't  got 
nothing  on  this  place  for  you.     Some  of  you  broke 

405 

Fiction,  Vol.  is — 18 


406  The  Battle-Ground 

into  my  smokehouse  night  befo'  last  an'  stole  all 
the  spar'  ribs  I'd  been  savin'.    Was  you  the  ones  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  you're  all  alike,"  protested  the  woman, 
scornfully,  "  an'  a  bigger  set  o'  rascals  I  never 
seed." 

"  Huh !  Who's  a  rascal  ?  "  exclaimed  Big  Abel, 
angrily. 

"  This  is  the  reward  of  doing  your  duty,  Big 
Abel,"  remarked  Dan,  gravely.  "  Never  do  it  again, 
remember.  The  next  time  Virginia  is  invaded  we'll 
sit  by  the  fire  and  warm  our  feet.  Good  morning, 
madam." 

"  Why  ain't  you  with  the  army  ?  "  inquired  the 
woman  sharply,  slapping  the  cow  upon  the  side  as 
she  rose  from  her  seat  and  took  up  the  milk  pail. 
"  An  officer  rode  by  this  morning  an'  he  told  me 
part  of  the  army  was  campin'  ten  miles  across  on 
the  other  road." 

"  Did  he  say  whose  division  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you  kin  fight  as  well  under  one 
general  as  another,  so  long  as  you've  got  a  mind  to 
fight  at  all.  You  jest  follow  this  lane  about  three 
miles  and  then  keep  straight  along  the  turnpike.  If 
you  do  that  I  reckon  you'll  git  yo'  deserts  befo'  sun- 
down." She  came  over  to  the  fence  and  stood  fixing 
them  with  hard,  bright  eyes.  "  My !  You  do  look 
used  up,"  she  admitted  after  a  moment.  "  You'd 
better  come  in  an'  git  a  glass  of  this  milk  befo'  you 
move  on.  Jest  go  roun'  to  the  gate  and  I'll  meet  you 
at  the  po'ch.  The  dog  won't  bite  you  if  you  don't 
touch  nothin'." 

"  All  right,  go  ahead  and  hide  the  spoons,"  called 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  407 

Dan,  as  he  swung  open  the  gate  and  went  up  a  little 
path  bordered  by  prince's  feathers. 

The  woman  met  them  at  the  porch  and  led  them 
into  a  clean  kitchen,  where  Dan  sat  down  at  the 
table  and  Big  Abel  stationed  himself  behind  his 
chair. 

"  Drink  a  glass  of  that  milk  the  first  thing,"  she 
said,  bustling  heavily  about  the  room,  and  brow- 
beating them  into  submissive  silence,  while  she 
mixed  the  biscuits  and  broke  the  eggs  into  a  frying- 
pan  greased  with  bacon  gravy.  Plump,  hearty,  with 
a  full  double  chin  and  cheeks  like  winter  apples,  she 
moved  briskly  from  the  wooden  safe  to  the  slow  fire, 
which  she  stirred  with  determined  gestures. 

"  It's  time  this  war  had  stopped,  anyhow,"  she 
remarked  as  she  slapped  the  eggs  up  into  the  air  and 
back  again  into  the  pan.  "  An'  if  General  Lee  ever 
rides  along  this  way  I  mean  to  tell  him  that  he  ought 
to  have  one  good  battle  an'  be  done  with  it.  Thar's 
no  use  piddlin'  along  like  this  twil  we're  all  worn 
out  and  thar  ain't  a  corn-field  pea  left  in  Virginny. 
Look  here  (to  Big  Abel),  you  set  right  down  on 
that  do'  step  an'  I'll  give  you  something  along  with 
yo'  marster.  It's  a  good  thing  I  happened  to  look 
under  the  cow  trough  yestiddy  or  thar  wouldn't  have 
been  an  egg  left  in  this  house.  That's  right,  turn 
right  in  an'  eat  hearty  —  don't  mince  with  me." 
Big  Abel,  cowed  by  her  energetic  manner,  seated 
himself  upon  the  door  step,  and  for  a  half-hour  the 
woman  ceaselessly  plied  them  with  hot  biscuits  and 
coffee  made  from  sweet  potatoes. 

"  You  mustn't  think  I  mind  doing  for  the  sol- 
diers," she  said  when  they  took  their  leave  a  little 


408  The  Battle- Ground 

later,  "  but  I've  a  husban'  with  General  Lee  and  I 
can't  bear  to  see  able-bodied  men  stragglin'  about 
the  country.  No,  don't  give  me  nothin'  —  it  ain't 
worth  it.  Lord,  don't  I  know  that  you  don't  git 
enough  to  buy  a  bag  of  flour."  Then  she  pointed 
out  the  way  again  and  they  set  off  with  a  well-filled 
paper  of  luncheon. 

"  Beware  of  hasty  judgments,  Big  Abel,"  advised 
Dan,  as  they  strolled  along  the  road.  "  Now  that 
woman  there  —  she's  the  right  sort,  though  she 
rather  took  my  breath  away." 

"  She  'uz  downright  ficy  at  fu'st,"  replied  Big 
Abel,  "  but  I  d'clar  dose  eggs  des  melted  in  my 
mouf  like  butter.  Whew!  don't  I  wish  I  had  dat 
ole  speckled  hen  f'om  home.  I  could  hev  toted  her 
unner  my  arm  thoo  dis  wah  des  es  well  es  not." 

The  sun  was  well  overhead,  and  across  the  land- 
scape the  heavy  dew  was  lifted  like  a  veil.  Here 
and  there  the  autumn  foliage  tinted  the  woods  in 
splashes  of  red  and  yellow ;  and  beyond  the  low 
stone  wall  an  old  sheep  pasture  was  ablaze  in  golden- 
rod.  From  a  pointed  aspen  beside  the  road  a  wild 
grapevine  let  down  a  fringe  of  purple  clusters,  but 
Big  Abel,  with  a  full  stomach,  passed  them  by  in- 
differently. A  huge  buzzard,  rising  suddenly  from 
the  pasture,  sailed  slowly  across  the  sky,  its  heavy 
shadow  skimming  the  field  beneath.  As  yet  the 
flames  of  war  had  not  blown  over  this  quiet  spot ;  in 
the  early  morning  dew  it  lay  as  fresh  as  the  world 
in  its  beginning. 

At  the  end  of  the  lane,  when  they  came  out  upon 
the  turnpike,  they  met  an  old  farmer  riding  a  mule 
home  from  the  market. 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  409 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  McClellan  has  crossed  the 
Potomac  ?  "  asked  Dan,  as  he  came  up  with  him. 
"  I  was  in  the  hospital  at  Shepherdstown,  and  I  left 
it  for  fear  of  capture.  No  news  has  reached  me, 
but  I  am  on  my  way  to  rejoin  the  army." 

"  Naw,  suh,  you  might  as  well  have  stayed  whar 
you  were,"  responded  the  old  man,  eying  him  with 
the  suspicion  which  always  met  a  soldier  out  of 
ranks.  "  McClellan  didn't  do  no  harm  on  this  side 
of  the  river  —  he  jest  set  up  a  battery  on  Douglas 
hill  and  scolded  General  Lee  for  leaving  Maryland 
so  soon.  You  needn't  worry  no  mo'  'bout  the  Yan- 
kees gittin'  on  this  side  —  thar  ain't  none  of  'em  left 
to  come,  they're  all  dead.  Why,  General  Lee  cut 
'em  all  up  into  little  pieces,  that's  what  he  did. 
Hooray!  it  was  jest  like  Bible  times  come  back 
agin." 

Then,  as  Dan  moved  on,  the  farmer  raised 
himself  in  his  stirrups  and  called  loudly  after  him. 
"  Keep  to  the  Scriptures,  young  man,  and  remem- 
ber Joshua,  Smite  them  hip  an'  thigh,  as  the  Bible 
says." 

All  day  in  the  bright  sunshine  they  crept  slowly 
onward,  halting  at  brief  intervals  to  rest  in  the 
short  grass  by  the  roadside,  and  stopping  to  ask 
information  of  the  countrymen  or  stragglers  whom 
they  met.  At  last  in  the  red  glow  of  the  sunset  they 
entered  a  strip  of  thin  woodland,  and  found  an  old 
negro  gathering  resinous  knots  from  the  bodies  of 
fallen  pines. 

"  Bless  de  Lawd ! "  he  exclaimed  as  he  faced 
them.  "  Is  you  done  come  fer  de  sick  sodger  at  my 
cabin?" 


41  o  The  Battle-Ground 

"  A  sick  soldier  ?  Why,  we  are  all  sick  soldiers," 
answered  Dan.  "  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  "  The 
old  man  shook  his  head,  as  he  placed  his  heavy  split 
basket  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

"  I  dunno,  marster,  he  ain'  come,  he  des  drapped. 
'Twuz  yestiddy  en  I  'nz  out  hyer  pickin'  up  dis  yer 
lightwood  des  like  I  is  doin'  dis  minute,  w'en  I 
heah  '  a-bookerty  !  bookerty !  bookerty ! '  out  dar 
in  de  road  'en  a  w'ite  hoss  tu'n  right  inter  de  woods 
wid  a  sick  sodger  a-hangin'  ter  de  saddle.  Yes,  suh, 
*le  hoss  he  come  right  in  des  like  he  knowed  me,  en 
w'en  I  helt  out  my  han'  he  poke  his  nose  spang  inter 
it  en  w'innied  like  he  moughty  glad  ter  see  me  — 
-en  he  wuz,  too,  dat's  sho'.  Well,  I  ketch  holt  er  his 
bridle  en  lead  'im  thoo  de  woods  up  ter  my  do'  whar 
he  tu'n  right  in  en  begin  ter  nibble  in  de  patch  er 
kebbage.  All  dis  time  I  'uz  'lowin'  dat  de  sodger 
wuz  stone  dead,  but  w'en  I  took  'im  down  he  opened 
his  eyes  en  axed  fur  water.  Den  I  gun  'im  a  drink 
outer  de  goa'd  en  laid  'im  flat  on  my  bed,  en  in  a 
little  w'ile  a  nigger  come  by  dat  sez  he  b'longed  ter 
'im,  but  befo'  day  de  nigger  gone  agin  en  de  hoss  he 
gone,  too." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  about  him,  uncle,  go  ahead," 
said  Dan,  and  as  the  old  negro  went  up  the  path 
among  the  trees,  he  followed  closely  on  his  foot- 
steps. When  they  had  gone  a  little  way  the  woods 
opened  suddenly  and  they  came  upon  a  small  log 
cabin,  with  a  yellow  dog  lying  before  the  door.  The 
dog  barked  shrilly  as  they  approached,  and  a  voice 
from  the  dim  room  beyond  called  out :  — 

"  Hosea !    Are  you  back  so  soon,  Hosea  ?  " 

At  the  words  Dan  stopped  as  if  struck  by  light- 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  411 

ning,  midway  of  the  vegetable  garden ;  then  break- 
ing from  Big  Abel,  he  ran  forward  and  into  the  little 
cabin. 

"  Is  the  hurt  bad,  Governor  ? "  he  asked  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

The  Governor  smiled  and  held  out  a  steady  hand 
above  the  ragged  patchwork  quilt.  His  neat  gray 
coat  lay  over  him  and  as  Dan  caught  the  glitter 
and  the  collar  he  remembered  the  promotion  after 
Seven  Pines. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  General,"  he  implored. 
"  What  is  it  that  we  can  do  ?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  the  end,  my  boy,"  replied  the 
Governor,  his  rich  voice  unshaken.  "  I  have  seen 
men  struck  like  this  before  and  I  have  lived  twelve 
hours  longer  than  the  strongest  of  them.  When  I 
could  go  no  farther  I  sent  Hosea  ahead  to  make 
things  ready  —  and  now  I  am  keeping  alive  to  hear 
from  home.     Give  me  water." 

Dan  held  the  glass  to  his  lips,  and  looking  up,  the 
Governor  thanked  him  with  his  old  warm  glance 
that  was  so  like  Betty's.  "  There  are  some  things 
that  are  worth  fighting  for,"  said  the  older  man  as 
he  fell  back,  "  and  the  sight  of  home  is  one  of  them. 
It  was  a  hard  ride,  but  every  stab  of  pain  carried  me 
nearer  to  Uplands  —  and  there  are  poor  fellows 
who  endure  worse  things  and  yet  die  in  a  strange 
land  among  strangers."  He  was  silent  a  moment 
and  then  spoke  slowly,  smiling  a  little  sadly. 

"  My  memory  has  failed  me,"  he  said,  "  and  when 
I  lay  here  last  night  and  tried  to  recall  the  look  of 
the  lawn  at  home,  I  couldn't  remember  —  I  couldn't 
remember.  Are  there  elms  or  maples  at  the  front, 
Dan?" 


412  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Maples,  sir,"  replied  Dan,  with  the  deference  of 
a  boy.  "  The  long  walk  bordered  by  lilacs  goes  up 
from  the  road  to  the  portico  with  the  Doric  columns 
—  you  remember  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on." 

"  The  maples  have  grown  thick  upon  the  lawn 
and  close  beside  the  house  there  is  the  mimosa  tree 
that  your  father  set  out  on  his  twenty-first  birth- 
day." 

"  The  branches  touch  the  library  window.  I  had 
them  trimmed  last  year  that  the  shutters  might  swing 
back.    What  time  is  it,  Dan  ?  " 

Dan  turned  to  the  door. 

"  What  time  is  it,  Big  Abel  ?  "  he  called  to  the 
negro  outside. 

"  Hit's  goin'  on  eight  o'clock,  suh,"  replied  Big 
Abel,  staring  at  the  west.  "  De  little  star  he  shoots 
up  moughty  near  eight,  en  dar  he  is  a-comin'." 

"  Hosea  is  there  by  now,"  said  the  Governor,  turn- 
ing his  head  on  a  pillow  of  pine  needles.  "  He 
started  this  morning,  and  I  told  him  to  change 
horses  upon  the  road  and  eat  in  the  saddle.  Yes,  he 
is  there  by  now  and  Julia  is  on  the  way.  Am  I 
growing  weaker,  do  you  think?  There  is  a  little 
brandy  on  the  chair,  give  me  a  few  drops  —  we  must 
make  it  last  all  night." 

After  taking  the  brandy  he  slept  a  little,  and 
awaking  quietly,  looked  at  Dan  with  dazed  eyes. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  stretching  out  his  hand. 
"  Why,  I  thought  Dick  Wythe  was  dead." 

Dan  bent  over  him,  smoothing  the  hair  from  his 
brow  with  hands  that  were  gentle  as  a  woman's. 

"  Surely  you  haven't  forgotten  me,"  he  said. 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  413 

"  No  —  no,  I  remember,  but  it  is  dark,  too  dark. 
Why  doesn't  Shadrach  bring  the  candles  ?  And  we 
might  as  well  have  a  blaze  in  the  fireplace  to-night. 
It  has  grown  chilly;  there'll  be  a  white  frost  be- 
fore morning." 

There  was  a  basket  of  resinous  pine  beside  the 
hearth,  and  Dan  kindled  a  fire  from  a  handful  of 
rich  knots.  As  the  flames  shot  up,  the  rough  little 
cabin  grew  more  cheerful,  and  the  Governor  laughed 
softly  lying  on  his  pallet. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  Dick  Wythe,  my  boy," 
he  said.  "  The  light  was  so  dim  I  couldn't  see,  and, 
after  all,  it  was  no  great  harm,  for  there  was  not  a 
handsomer  man  in  the  state  than  my  friend  Dick  — 
the  ladies  used  to  call  him  '  Apollo  Unarmed,'  you 
know.  Ah,  I  was  jealous  enough  of  Dick  in  my 
day,  though  he  never  knew  it.  He  rather  took 
Julia's  fancy  when  I  first  began  courting  her,  and, 
for  a  time,  he  pretended  to  reform  and  refused  to 
touch  a  drop  even  at  the  table.  I've  seen  him  sit 
for  hours,  too,  in  Julia's  Bible  class  of  little  negroes, 
with  his  eyes  positively  glued  on  her  face  while 
she  read  the  hymns  aloud.  Yes,  he  was  over  head 
and  ears  in  love  with  her,  there's  no  doubt  of  that  — 
though  she  has  always  denied  it  —  and,  I  dare  say, 
he  would  have  been  a  much  better  man  if  she  had 
married  him,  and  I  a  much  worse  one.  Somehow,  I 
can't  help  feeling  that  it  wasn't  quite  just,  and  that 
I  ought  to  square  up  things  with  Dick  at  Judgment 
Day.  I  shouldn't  like  to  reap  any  good  from  his 
mistakes,  poor  fellow."  He  broke  off  for  an  instant, 
lay  gazing  at  the  lightwood  blaze,  and  then  took  up 
the  thread.     "  He  had  his  fall  at  last,  and  it's  been 


414  The  Battle-Ground 

on  my  conscience  ever  since  that  I  didn't  toss  that 
bowl  of  apple  toddy  through  the  window  when  I 
saw  him  going  towards  it.  We  were  at  Chericoke 
on  Christmas  Eve  in  a  big  snowstorm,  and  Dick 
couldn't  resist  his  glass  —  he  never  could  so  long 
as  there  was  a  drop  at  the  bottom  of  it  —  the  more 
he  drank,  the  thirstier  he  got,  he  used  to  say.  Well, 
he  took  a  good  deal,  more  than  he  could  stand,  and 
when  the  Major  began  toasting  the  ladies  and  called 
them  the  prettiest  things  God  ever  made,  Dick  flew 
into  a  rage  and  tried  to  fight  him.  '  There  are  two 
prettier  sights  than  any  woman  that  ever  wore  pet- 
ticoats,' he  thundered ;  •  and  (here  he  ripped  out  an 
oath)  I'll  prove  it  to  you  at  the  sword's  point  before 
sunrise.  God  made  but  one  thing,  sir,  prettier  than 
the  cobwebs  on  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  that's  the  bottle 
of  wine  without  the  cobwebs ! '  Then  he  went  at 
the  Major,  and  we  had  to  hold  him  back  and  rub 
snow  on  his  temples.  That  night  I  drove  home  with 
Julia,  and  she  accepted  me  before  we  passed  the  wild 
cherry  tree  on  the  way  to  Uplands." 

As  he  fell  silent  the  old  negro,  treading  softly, 
came  into  the  room  and  made  the  preparations  for  his 
simple  supper,  which  he  carried  outside  beneath  the 
trees.  In  a  little  bared  place  amid  charred  wood,  a 
fire  was  started,  and  Dan  watched  through  the  open 
doorway  the  stooping  figures  of  the  two  negroes  as 
they  bent  beside  the  flames.  In  a  little  while  Big 
Abel  came  into  the  room  and  beckoned  him,  but  he 
shook  his  head  impatiently  and  turned  away,  sick- 
ened by  the  thought  of  food. 

"  Go,  my  boy,"  said  the  Governor,  as  if  he  had 
seen  it  through  closed  eyes.    "  I  never  saw  a  private 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  415 

yet  that  wasn't  hungry  —  one  told  me  last  week 
that  his  diet  for  a  year  had  varied  only  three  times 
—  blackberries,  chinquapins,  and  persimmons  had 
kept  him  alive,  he  said." 

Then  his  mind  wandered  again,  and  he  talked  in 
a  low  voice  of  the  wheat  fields  at  Uplands  and  of 
the  cradles  swinging  all  day  in  the  sunshine.  Dan, 
moving  to  the  door,  stared,  with,  aching  eyes,  at  the 
rich  twilight  which  crept  like  purple  mist  among  the 
trees.  The  very  quiet  of  the  scene  grated  as  a  dis- 
cord upon  his  mood,  and  he  would  have  welcomed 
with  a  feeling  of  relief  any  violent  manifestation  of 
the  savagery  of  nature.  A  storm,  an  earthquake, 
even  the  thunder  of  battle  he  felt  would  be  less 
tragic  than  just  this  pleasant  evening  with  the  se- 
rene moon  rising  above  the  hills. 

Turning  back  into  the  room,  he  drew  a  split- 
bottomed  chair  beside  the  hearth,  and  began  his 
patient  watch  until  the  daybreak.  Under  the  patch- 
work quilt  the  Governor  lay  motionless,  dead  from 
the  waist  down,  only  the  desire  in  his  eyes  struggling 
to  keep  the  spirit  to  the  clay.  Big  Abel  and  the  old 
negro  made  themselves  a  bed  beneath  the  trees,  and 
as  they  raked  the  dried  leaves  together  the  mourn- 
ful rustling  filled  the  little  cabin.  Then  they  lay 
down,  the  yellow  dog  beside  them,  and  gradually 
the  silence  of  the  night  closed  in. 

After  midnight,  Dan,  who  had  dozed  in  his  chair 
from  weariness,  was  awakened  by  the  excited  tones 
of  the  Governor's  voice.  The  desire  was  vanquished 
at  last  and  the  dying  man  had  gone  back  in  delirium 
to  the  battle  he  had  fought  beyond  the  river.  On 
the  hearth  the  resinous  pine  still  blazed  and  from 


4*6  The  Battle-Ground 

somewhere  among  the  stones  came  the  short  chirp 
of  a  cricket. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  —  a  mere  scratch.  Lay  me 
beneath  that  tree,  and  tell  Barnes  to  support  D.  H. 
Hill  at  the  sunken  road.  Richardson  is  charging 
us  across  the  ploughed  ground  and  we  are  fighting 
from  behind  the  stacked  fence  rails.  Ah,  they  ad- 
vance well,  those  Federals  —  not  a  man  out  of  line, 
and  their  fire  has  cut  the  corn  down  as  with  a  sickle. 
If  Richardson  keeps  this  up,  he  will  sweep  us  from 
the  wood  and  beyond  the  slope.  No,  don't  take  me 
to  the  hospital.  Please  God,  I'll  die  upon  the  field 
and  hear  the  cannon  at  the  end.  Look!  they  are 
charging  again,  but  we  still  hold  our  ground.  What, 
Longstreet  giving  way?  They  are  forcing  him 
from  the  ridge  —  the  enemy  hold  it  now !  Ah, 
well,  there  is  A.  P.  Hill  to  give  the  counter 
stroke.    If  he  falls  upon  their  flank,  the  day  is  —  " 

His  voice  ceased,  and  Dan,  crossing  the  room, 
gave  him  brandy  from  the  glass  upon  the  chair.  The 
silence  had  grown  suddenly  oppressive,  and  as  the 
young  man  went  back  to  his  seat,  he  saw  a  little 
mouse  gliding  like  a  shadow  across  the  floor. 
Startled  by  his  footsteps,  it  hesitated  an  instant  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  then  darted  along  the 
wall  and  disappeared  between  the  loose  logs  in  the 
corner.  Often  during  the  night  it  crept  out  from  its 
hiding  place,  and  at  last  Dan  grew  to  look  for  it 
with  a  certain  wistful  comfort  in  its  shy  companion- 
ship. 

Gradually  the  stars  went  out  above  the  dim  woods, 
and  the  dawn  whitened  along  the  eastern  sky.  With 
the  first  light  Dan  went  to  the  open  door  and  drew 


The  Cabin  in  the  Woods  417 

a  deep  breath  of  the  refreshing  air.  A  new  day  was 
coming,  but  he  met  it  with  dulled  eyes  and  a  crippled 
will.  The  tragedy  of  life  seemed  to  overhang  the 
pleasant  prospect  upon  which  he  looked,  and,  as  he 
stood  there,  he  saw  in  his  vision  of  the  future  only 
an  endless  warfare  and  a  wasted  land.  With  a  start 
he  turned,  for  the  Governor  was  speaking  in  a  voice 
that  filled  the  cabin  and  rang  out  into  the  woods. 

"  Skirmishers,  forward !  Second  the  battalion  of 
direction !    Battalions,  forward !  " 

He  had  risen  upon  his  pallet  and  was  pointing 
straight  at  the  open  door,  but  when,  with  a  single 
stride,  Dan  reached  him,  he  was  already  dead. 


IV 

IN   THE   SILENCE   OF   THE  GUNS 

At  noon  the  next  day,  Dan,  sitting  beside  the  fire^ 
less  hearth,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  clasped 
hands,  saw  a  shadow  fall  suddenly  upon  the  floor, 
and,  looking  up,  found  Mrs.  Ambler  standing  in  the 
doorway. 

"  I  am  too  late?  "  she  said  quietly,  and  he  bowed 
his  head  and  motioned  to  the  pallet  in  the  corner. 

Without  seeing  the  arm  he  put  out,  she  crossed 
the  room  like  one  bewildered  by  a  sudden  blow, 
and  went  to  where  the  Governor  was  lying  be- 
neath the  patchwork  quilt.  No  sound  came  to  her 
lips ;  she  only  stretched  out  her  hand  with  a  pro- 
tecting gesture  and  drew  the  dead  man  to  her  arms. 
Then  it  was  that  Dan,  turning  to  leave  her  alone 
with  her  grief,  saw  that  Betty  had  followed  her 
mother  and  was  coming  toward  him  from  the  door- 
way. For  an  instant  their  eyes  met ;  then  the  girl 
went  to  her  dead,  and  Dan  passed  out  into  the  sun- 
light with  a  new  bitterness  at  his  heart. 

A  dozen  yards  from  the  cabin  there  was  a  golden 
beech  spreading  in  wide  branches  against  the  sky, 
and  seating  himself  on  a  fallen  log  beneath  it,  he 
looked  over  the  soft  hills  that  rose  round  and  deep- 
bosomed  from  the  dim  blue  valley.  He  was  still 
there  an  hour  later  when,  hearing  a  rustle  in  the 

418 


In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns  419 

grass,  he  turned  and  saw  Betty  coming  to  him  over 
the  yellowed  leaves.  His  first  glance  showed  him 
that  she  had  grown  older  and  very  pale;  his  second 
that  her  kind  brown  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Betty,  is  it  this  way?"  he  asked,  and  opened 
his  arms. 

With  a  cry  that  was  half  a  sob  she  ran  toward 
him,  her  black  skirt  sweeping  the  leaves  about  her 
feet.  Then,  as  she  reached  him,  she  swayed  for- 
ward as  if  a  strong  wind  blew  over  her,  and  as  he 
caught  her  from  the  ground,  he  kissed  her  lips.  Her 
tears  broke  out  afresh,  but  as  they  stood  there  in 
each  other's  arms,  neither  found  words  to  speak 
nor  voice  to  utter  them.  The  silence  between  them 
had  gone  deeper  than  speech,  for  it  had  in  it  all  the 
dumb  longing  of  the  last  two  years  —  the  unshaken 
trust,  the  bitterness  of  the  long  separation,  the  griefs 
that  had  come  to  them  apart,  and  the  sorrow  that 
had  brought  them  at  last  together.  He  held  her 
so  closely  that  he  felt  the  flutter  of  her  breast  with 
each  rising  sob,  and  an  anguish  that  was  but  a 
vibration  from  her  own  swept  over  him  like  a  wave 
from  head  to  foot.  Since  he  had  put  her  from  him 
on  that  last  night  at  Chericoke  their  passion  had 
deepened  by  each  throb  of  pain  and  broadened  by 
each  step  that  had  led  them  closer  to  the  common 
world.  Not  one  generous  thought,  not  one  tempta- 
tion overcome  but  had  gone  to  the  making  of  their 
love  to-day  —  for  what  united  them  now  was  not 
the  mere  prompting  of  young  impulse,  but  the 
strength  out  of  many  struggles  and  the  fulness 
out  of  experiences  that  had  ripened  the  heart  of 
each. 


420  The  Battle- Ground 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  said  Betty,  lifting  her 
wet  face.  "  It  has  been  so  long,  and  I  have  wanted 
you  so  much  —  I  have  hungered  sleeping  and  wak- 
ing. 

"  Don't  look  at  me,  Betty,  I  am  a  skeleton  —  a 
crippled  skeleton,  and  I  will  not  be  looked  at  by  my 
love." 

"  Your  love  can  see  you  with  shut  eyes.  Oh,  my 
best  and  dearest,  do  you  think  you  could  keep  me 
from  seeing  you  however  hard  you  tried?  Why, 
there's  a  lamp  in  my  heart  that  lets  me  look  at 
you  even  in  the  night." 

"  Your  lamp  flatters,  I  am  afraid  to  face  it.  Has 
it  shown  you  this  ?  " 

He  drew  back  and  held  up  his  maimed  hand,  his 
eyes  fastened  upon  her  face,  where  the  old  fervour 
had  returned. 

With  a  sob  that  thrilled  through  him,  she  caught 
his  hand  to  her  lips  and  then  held  it  to  her  bosom, 
crooning  over  it  little  broken  sounds  of  love  and 
pity.  Through  the  spreading  beech  above  a  clear 
gold  light  filtered  down  upon  her,  and  a  single 
yellow  leaf  was  caught  in  her  loosened  hair.  He 
saw  her  face,  impassioned,  glorified,  amid  a  flood 
of  sunshine. 

"  And  I  did  not  know,"  she  said  breathlessly. 
"  You  were  wounded  and  there  was  no  one  to  tell 
me.  Whenever  there  has  been  a  battle  I  have  sat 
very  still  and  shut  my  eyes,  and  tried  to  make  my- 
self go  straight  to  you.  I  have  seen  the  smoke  and 
heard  the  shots,  and  yet  when  it  came  I  did  not 
know  it.  I  may  even  have  laughed  and  talked  and 
eaten  a  stupid   dinner   while  you   were   suffering. 


In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns  421 

Now  I  shall  never  smile  again  until  I  have  you 
safe." 

"  But  if  I  were  dying  I  should  want  to  see 
you  smiling.  Nobody  ever  smiled  before  you, 
Betty." 

"If  you  are  wounded,  you  will  send  for  me. 
Promise  me;  I  beg  you  on  my  knees.  You  will 
send  for  me;  say  it  or  I  shall  be  always  wretched. 
Do  you  want  to  kill  me,  Dan?     Promise." 

"  I  shall  send  for  you.  There,  will  that  do  ?  It 
would  be  almost  worth  dying  to  have  you  come  to 
me.    Would  you  kiss  me  then,  I  wonder?" 

"  Then  and  now,"  she  answered  passionately. 
"  Oh,  I  sometimes  think  that  wars  are  fought  to 
torture  women !  Hold  me  in  your  arms  again  or 
my  heart  will  break.  I  have  missed  Virginia  so  — 
never  a  day  passes  that  I  do  not  see  her  coming 
through  the  rooms  and  hear  her  laugh  —  such  a 
baby  laugh,  do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  I  remember  everything  that  was  near  to  you, 
beloved." 

"  If  you  could  have  seen  her  on  her  wedding  day, 
when  she  came  down  in  her  pink  crepe  shawl  and 
white  bonnet  that  I  had  trimmed,  and  looked  back, 
smiling  at  us  for  the  last  time.  I  have  almost  died 
with  wanting  her  again  —  and  now  papa  —  papa ! 
They  loved  life  so,  and  yet  both  are  dead,  and  life 
goes  on  without  them." 

"  My  poor  love,  poor  Betty." 

"  But  not  so  poor  as  if  I  had  lost  you,  too,"  she 
answered ;  "  and  if  you  are  wounded  even  a  little 
remember  that  you  have  promised,  and  I  shall  come 
to  you.     Prince  Rupert  and  I  will  pass  the  lines 


422  The  Battle-Ground 

together.  Do  you  know  that  I  have  Prince  Rupert, 
Dan  ?  " 

"  Keep  him,  dear,  don't  let  him  get  into  the 
army." 

"  He  lives  in  the  woods  night  and  day,  and  when 
he  comes  to  pasture  I  go  after  him  while  Uncle 
Shadrach  watches  the  turnpike.  When  the  soldiers 
come  by,  blue  or  gray,  we  hide  him  behind  the 
willows  in  the  brook.  They  may  take  the  chickens 
—  and  they  do  —  but  I  should  kill  the  man  who 
touched  Prince  Rupert's  bridle." 

"  You  should  have  been  a  soldier,  Betty." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Oh,  I  couldn't  shoot  any 
one  in  cold  blood  —  as  you  do  —  that's  different. 
I'd  have  to  hate  him  as  much  —  as  much  as  I  love 
you." 

"  How  much  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  whole  world  full  and  brimming  over ;  is  that 
enough  ?  " 

"Only  a  little  world?"  he  answered.  "Is  that 
all?" 

"  If  I  told  you  truly,  you  would  not  believe  me," 
she  said  earnestly.  "  You  would  shake  your  head 
and  say :  '  Poor  silly  Betty,  has  she  gone  moon 
mad?'" 

Catching  her  in  his  arms  again,  he  kissed  her 
hair  and  mouth  and  Hands  and  the  ruffle  at  her 
throat.  "  Poor  silly  Betty,"  he  repeated,  "  where 
is  your  wisdom  now  ?  " 

"  You  have  turned  it  into  folly,  sad  little  wis- 
dom  that  it  was." 

"  Well,  I  prefer  your  folly,"  he  said  gravely.  "  It 
was  folly  that  made  you  love  me  at  the  first ;  it  was 


In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns  423 

pure  folly  that  brought  you  out  to  me  that  night  at 
Chericoke  —  but  the  greatest  folly  of  all  is  just 
this,  my  dear." 

"  But  it  will  keep  you  safe." 

"  Who  knows  ?  I  may  get  shot  to-morrow. 
There,  there,  I  only  said  it  to  feel  your  arms  about 
me." 

Her  hands  clung  to  him  and  the  tears,  rising  to 
her  lashes,  fell  fast  upon  his  coat. 

"  Oh,  don't  let  me  lose  you,"  she  begged.  "  I 
have  lost  so  much  —  don't  let  me  lose  you,  too." 

"  Living  or  dead,  I  am  yours,  that  I  swear." 

"  But  I  don't  want  you  dead.  I  want  the  feel  of 
you.    I  want  your  hands,  your  face.     I  want  you." 

"  Betty,  Betty,"  he  said  softly.  "  Listen,  for  there 
is  no  word  in  the  world  that  means  so  much  as 
just  your  name." 

"  Except  yours." 

"  No  interruptions,  this  is  martial  law.  Dear, 
dearest,  darling,  are  all  empty  sounds ;  but  when  I 
say  '  Betty,'  it  is  full  of  life." 

"  Say  it  again,  then." 

"  Betty,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"  Ask :    '  Betty,  is  the  sun  shining?  '  " 

"  It  always  shines  about  you." 

"  Because  my  hair  is  red?" 

"  Red?  It  is  pure  gold.  Do  you  remember  when 
I  found  that  out  on  the  hearth  in  free  Levi's  cabin  ? 
The  colour  went  to  my  head,  but  when  I  put  out 
my  hand  to  touch  a  curl,  you  drew  away  and  fas- 
tened them  up  again.  Now  I  have  pulled  them  all 
down  and  you  dare  not  move." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  drew  away  ?  " 


424  The  Battle-Ground 

The  tears  were  still  on  her  lashes,  but  in  the  ex« 
altation  of  a  great  passion,  life,  death,  the  grave, 
and  things  beyond  had  dwindled  like  stars  before 
the  rising  sun. 

"  You  told  me  then  —  because  I  was  -  a  pampered 
poodle  dog.'  Well,  I've  outgrown  that  objection 
certainly.  Let  us  hope  you  have  a  fancy  for  lean 
hounds." 

She  put  up  her  hands  in  protest. 

"  I  drew  away  partly  because  I  knew  you  did  not 
love  me,"  she  said,  meeting  his  eyes  with  her  clear 
and  ardent  gaze,  "  but  more  because  —  I  knew  that 
I  loved  you." 

"  You  loved  me  then  ?  Oh,  Betty,  if  I  had  only 
known !  " 

"  If  you  had  known !  "  She  covered  her  face. 
"  Oh,  it  was  terrible  enough  as  it  was.  I  wanted 
to  beat  myself  for  shame." 

"  Shame?    In  loving  me,  my  darling?  " 

"  In  loving  you  like  that." 

"  Nonsense.  If  you  had  only  said  to  me :  '  My 
good  sir,  I  love  you  a  little  bit,'  I  should  have  come 
to  my  senses  on  the  spot.  Even  pampered  poodle 
dogs  are  not  all  fat,  Betty,  and,  as  it  was,  I  did 
come  to  the  years  of  discretion  that  very  night.  I 
didn't  sleep  a  wink." 

"  Nor  I." 

"  I  walked  the  floor  till  daybreak." 

"  And  I  sat  by  the  window." 

"  I  hurled  every  hard  name  at  myself  that  I  could 
think  of.  '  Dolt  and  idiot '  seemed  to  stick.  By 
George,  I  can't  get  over  it.  To  think  that  I  might 
have  galloped  down  that  turnpike  and  swept  you 


In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns  425 

off  your  feet.  You  wouldn't  have  withstood  me, 
Betty,  you  couldn't." 

"  Yet  I  did,"  she  said,  smiling  sadly. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  have  a  fair  chance,  you  see." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  "  though  some- 
times I  was  afraid  you  would  hear  my  heart  beat- 
ing and  know  it  all.  Do  you  remember  that  morn- 
ing in  the  garden  with  the  roses  ?  —  I  wouldn't  kiss 
you  good-by,  but  if  you  had  done  it  against  my 
will  I'd  have  broken  down.  After  you  had  gone 
I  kissed  the  grass  where  you  had  stood." 

"  My  God !     I  can't  leave  you,  Betty." 

She  met  his  passionate  gaze  with  steady  eyes. 

"  If  you  were  not  to  go  I  should  never  have  told 
you,"  she  answered ;  "  but  if  you  die  in  battle  you 
must  remember  it  at  the  last." 

"  It  seems  an  awful  waste  of  opportunities,"  he 
said,  "  but  I'll  make  it  up  on  the  day  that  I  come 
back  a  Major-general.  Then  I  shall  say  '  forward, 
madam,'  and  you'll  marry  me  on  the  spot." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  I  may  grow  coy  again  when 
the  war  is  over." 

"  When  you  do  I'll  find  the  remedy  —  for  I'll 
be  a  Major-general,  then,  and  you  a  private.  This 
war  must  make  me,  dear.  I  shan't  stay  in  the  ranks 
much  longer." 

"  I  like  you  there  —  it  is  so  brave,"  she  said. 

"  But  you'll  like  me  anywhere,  and  I  prefer  the 
top  —  the  very  top.  Oh,  my  love,  we'll  wring  our 
happiness  from  the  world  before  we  die !  " 

With  a  shiver  she  came  back  to  the  earth. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  him,"  she  said  in  keen 
self-reproach,  and  went  quickly   over  the  rustling 


426  The  Battle-Ground 

leaves  to  the  cabin  door.  As  Dan  followed  her  the 
day  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  darker  to  his  eyes. 

On  the  threshold  he  met  Mrs.  Ambler,  composed 
and  tearless,  wearing  her  grief  as  a  veil  that  hid  her 
from  the  outside  world.  Before  her  calm  gray  eyes 
he  fell  back  with  an  emotion  not  unmixed  with  awe. 

"  I  did  the  best  I  could,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  but  it 
was  nothing." 

She  thanked  him  quietly,  asking  a  few  questions 
in  her  grave  and  gentle  voice.  Was  he  conscious 
to  the  end?  Did  he  talk  of  home?  Had  he  ex- 
pressed any  wishes  of  which  she  was  not  aware? 

"  They  are  bringing  him  to  the  wagon  now," 
she  finished  steadily.  "  No,  do  not  go  in  —  you  are 
very  weak  and  your  strength  must  be  saved  to  hold 
your  musket.  Shadrach  and  Big  Abel  will  carry 
him,  I  prefer  it  to  be  so.  We  left  the  wagon  at  the 
end  of  the  path ;  it  is  a  long  ride  home,  but  we 
have  arranged  to  change  horses,  and  we  shall  reach 
Uplands,  I  hope,  by  sunrise." 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  could  go  with  you !  "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Your  place  is  with  the  army,"  she  answered. 
"  I  have  no  son  to  send,  so  you  must  go  in  his 
stead.  He  would  have  it  this  way  if  he  could 
choose." 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  and  he  looked  at 
her  placid  face  and  the  smooth  folds  of  her  black 
silk  with  a  wonder  that  checked  his  words. 

"  Some  one  said  of  him  once,"  she  added  pres- 
ently, "  that  he  was  a  man  who  always  took  his 
duty  as  if  it  were  a  pleasure;  and  it  was  true  — 
so  true.    I  alone  saw  how  hard  this  was  for  him, 


In  the  Silence  of  the  Guns  427 

for  he  hated  war  as  heartily  as  he  dreaded  deatli. 
Yet  when  both  came  he  met  them  squarely  and 
without  looking  back." 

"  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  the  truest  gentleman 
I  have  ever  known,"  he  said. 

A  pleased  smile  hovered  for  an  instant  on  her 
lips. 

"  He  fought  hard  against  secession  until  it  came," 
she  pursued  quietly,  "  for  he  loved  the  Union,  and 
he  had  given  it  the  best  years  of  his  life  —  his 
strong  years,  he  used  to  say.  I  think  if  he  ever  felt 
any  bitterness  toward  any  one,  it  was  for  the  man 
or  men  who  brought  us  into  this ;  and  at  last  he 
used  to  leave  the  room  because  he  could  not  speak 
of  them  without  anger.  He  threw  all  his  strength 
against  the  tide,  yet,  when  it  rushed  on  in  spite 
of  him,  he  knew  where  his  duty  guided  him,  and 
he  followed  it,  as  always,  like  a  pleasure.  You 
thought  him  sanguine,  I  suppose,  but  he  never  was 
so  —  in  his  heart,  though  the  rest  of  us  think  differ- 
ently, he  always  felt  that  he  was  fighting  for  a 
hopeless  cause,  and  he  loved  it  the  more  for  very 
pity  of  its  weakness.  '  It  is  the  spirit  and  not  the 
bayonet  that  makes  history,'  he  used  to  say." 

Heavy  steps  crossed  the  cabin  floor,  and  Uncle 
Shadrach  and  Big  Abel  came  out  bringing  the  dead 
man  between  them.  With  her  hand  on  the  gray 
coat,  Mrs.  Ambler  walked  steadily  as  she  leaned  on 
Betty's  shoulder.  Once  or  twice  she  noticed  rocks 
in  the  way,  and  cautioned  the  negroes  to  go  care- 
fully down  the  descending  grade.  The  bright 
leaves  drifted  upon  them,  and  through  the  thin 
woods,  along  the  falling  path,  over  the  lacework 


428  The  Battle-Ground 

of  lights  and  shadows,  they  went  slowly  out  into  the 
road  where  Hosea  was  waiting  with  the  open  wagon. 

The  Governor  was  laid  upon  the  straw  that  filled 
the  bottom,  Mrs.  Ambler  sat  down  beside  him,  and 
as  Betty  followed,  Uncle  Shadrach  climbed  upon  the 
seat  above  the  wheel. 

"  Good-by,  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  giving 
him  her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  my  soldier,"  said  Betty,  taking  both 
of  his.  Then  Hosea  cracked  the  whip  and  the 
wagon  rolled  out  into  the  road,  scattering  the  gray 
dust  high  into  the  sunlight. 

Dan,  standing  alone  against  the  pines,  looked 
after  it  with  a  gnawing  hunger  at  his  heart,  seeing 
first  Betty's  eyes,  next  the  gleam  of  her  hair,  then 
the  dim  figures  fading  into  the  straw,  and  at  last 
the  wagon  caught  up  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  Down 
the  curving  road,  round  a  green  knoll,  across  a 
little  stream,  and  into  the  blue  valley  it  passed  as  a 
speck  upon  the  landscape.  Then  the  distance  closed 
over  it,  the  sand  settled  in  the  road,  and  the  blank 
purple  hills  crowded  against  the  sky. 


THE    PLACE   THEREOF 

In  the  full  beams  of  the  sun  the  wagon  turned 
into  the  drive  between  the  lilacs  and  drew  up  be- 
fore the  Doric  columns.  Mr.  Bill  and  the  two  old 
ladies  came  out  upon  the  portico,  and  the  Governor 
was  lifted  down  by  Uncle  Shadrach  and  Hosea 
and  laid  upon  the  high  tester  bed  in  the  room  be- 
hind the  parlour. 

As  Betty  entered  the  hall,  the  familiar  sights  of 
every  day  struck  her  eyes  with  the  smart  of  a  phys- 
ical blow.  The  excitement  of  the  shock  had  passed 
from  her;  there  was  no  longer  need  to  tighten  the 
nervous  strain,  and  henceforth  she  must  face  her 
grief  where  the  struggle  is  always  hardest  —  in  the 
place  where  each  trivial  object  is  attended  by 
pleasant  memories.  While  there  was  something  for 
her  hands  to  do  —  or  the  danger  of  delay  in  the  long 
watch  upon  the  road  —  it  had  not  been  so  hard  to 
brace  her  strength  against  necessity,  but  here  — 
what  was  there  left  that  she  must  bring  herself  to 
endure?  The  torturing  round  of  daily  things,  the 
quiet  house  in  which  to  cherish  new  regrets,  and  out- 
side the  autumn  sunshine  on  the  long  white  turn- 
pike. The  old  waiting  grown  sadder,  was  begun 
again ;  she  must  put  out  her  hands  to  take  up  life 
where  it  had  stopped,  go  up  and  down  the  shining 

429 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 19 


430  The  Battle- Ground 

staircase  and  through  the  unchanged  rooms,  while 
her  ears  were  always  straining  for  the  sound  of 
the  cannon,  or  the  beat  of  a  horse's  hoofs  upon  the 
road. 

The  brick  wall  around  the  little  graveyard  was 
torn  down  in  one  corner,  and,  while  the  afternoon 
sun  slanted  between  the  aspens,  the  Governor  was 
laid  away  in  the  open  grave  beneath  rank  periwinkle. 
There  was  no  minister  to  read  the  service,  but  as 
the  clods  of  earth  fell  on  the  coffin,  Mrs.  Ambler 
opened  her  prayer  book  and  Betty,  kneeling  upon 
the  ground,  heard  the  low  words  with  her  eyes  on 
the  distant  mountains.  Overhead  the  aspens  stirred 
beneath  a  passing  breeze,  and  a  few  withered 
leaves  drifted  slowly  down.  Aunt  Lydia  wept 
softly,  and  the  servants  broke  into  a  subdued 
wailing,  but  Mrs.  Ambler's  gentle  voice  did  not 
falter. 

"  He  cometh  up,  and  is  cut  down,  like  a  flower ; 
he  fleeth  as  it  were  a  shadow,  and  never  continueth 
in  one  stay." 

She  read  on  quietly  in  the  midst  of  the  weeping 
slaves,  who  had  closed  about  her.  Then,  at  the 
last  words,  her  hands  dropped  to  her  sides,  and 
she  drew  back  while  Uncle  Shadrach  shovelled  in 
the  clay. 

"  It  is  but  a  span,"  she  repeated,  looking  out  into 
the  sunshine,  with  a  light  that  was  almost  unearthly 
upon  her  face. 

"  Come  away,  mamma,"  said  Betty,  holding  out 
her  arms ;  and  when  the  last  spray  of  life-everlast- 
ing was  placed  upon  the  finished  mound,  they  went 
out  by  the  hollow  in  the  wall,  turning  from  time  to 


"The  Place  Thereof"  431 

time  to  look  back  at  the  gray  aspens.  Down  the 
little  hill,  through  the  orchard,  and  across  the  mead- 
ows filled  with  waving  golden-rod,  the  procession 
of  white  and  black  filed  slowly  homeward.  When 
the  lawn  was  reached  each  went  to  his  accustomed 
task,  and  Aunt  Lydia  to  her  garden. 

An  hour  later  the  Major  rode  over  in  response 
to  a  message  which  had  just  reached  him. 

"  I  was  in  town  all  the  morning,"  he  explained 
in  a  trembling  voice,  "  and  I  didn't  get  the  news 
until  a  half  hour  ago.  The  saddest  day  of  my  life, 
madam,  is  the  one  upon  which  I  learn  that  I  have 
outlived  him." 

"  He  loved  you,  Major,"  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  meet- 
ing his  swimming  eyes. 

"  Loved  me !  "  repeated  the  old  man,  quivering 
in  his  chair,  "  I  tell  you,  madam,  I  would  rather 
have  been  Peyton  Ambler's  friend  than  President 
of  the  Confederacy !  Do  you  remember  the  time 
he  gave  me  his  last  keg  of  brandy  and  went  without 
for  a  month  ?  " 

She  nodded,  smiling,  and  the  Major,  with  red 
eyes  and  shaking  hands,  wandered  into  endless  rem- 
iniscences of  the  long  friendship.  To  Betty  these 
trivial  anecdotes  were  only  a  fresh  torture,  but  Mrs. 
Ambler  followed  them  eagerly,  comparing  her  recol- 
lections with  the  Major's,  and  repeating  in  a  low 
voice  to  herself  characteristic  stories  which  she  had 
not  heard  before. 

"  I  remember  that  —  we  had  been  married  six 
months  then,"  she  would  say,  with  the  unearthly 
light  upon  her  face.  "  It  is  almost  like  living  again 
to  hear  you,  Major." 


432  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Well,  madam,  life  is  a  sad  affair,  but  it  is  the 
best  we've  got,"  responded  the  old  gentleman, 
gravely. 

"  He  loved  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Ambler,  and  as 
the  Major  rose  to  go,  she  followed  him  into  the 
hall  and  inquired  if  Mrs.  Lightfoot  had  been  suc- 
cessful with  her  weaving.  "  She  told  me  that  she 
intended  to  have  her  old  looms  set  up  again,"  she 
added,  "  and  I  think  that  I  shall  follow  her  ex- 
ample. Between  us  we  might  clothe  a  regiment  of 
soldiers." 

"  She  has  had  the  servants  brushing  off  the  cob- 
webs for  a  week,"  replied  the  Major,  "  and  to-day 
I  actually  found  Car'line  at  a  spinning  wheel  on 
the  back  flagstones.  There's  not  the  faintest  doubt 
in  my  mind  that  if  Molly  had  been  placed  in  the 
Commissary  department  our  soldiers  would  be  liv- 
ing to-day  on  the  fat  of  the  land.  She  has  knitted 
thirty  pairs  of  socks  since  spring.  Good-by,  my 
dear  lady,  good-by,  and  may  God  sustain  you  in 
your  double  affliction." 

He  crossed  the  portico,  bowed  as  he  descended 
the  steps,  and,  mounting  in  the  drive,  rode  slowly 
away  upon  his  dappled  mare.  When  he  reached 
the  turnpike  he  lifted  his  hat  again  and  passed  on 
at  an  amble. 

During  the  next  few  months  it  seemed  to  Betty 
that  she  aged  a  year  each  day.  The  lines  closed 
and  opened  round  them;  troops  of  blue  and  gray 
cavalrymen  swept  up  and  down  the  turnpike;  the 
pastures  were  invaded  by  each  army  in  its  turn,  and 
the  hen-house  became  the  spoil  of  a  regiment  of 
stragglers.     Uncle  Shadrach  had  buried  the  silver 


"The   Place  Thereof"  433 

beneath  the  floor  of  his  cabin,  and  Aunt  Floretta 
set  her  dough  to  rise  each  morning  under  a  loose 
pile  of  kindling  wood.  Once  a  deserter  penetrated 
into  Betty's  chamber,  and  the  girl  drove  him  out 
at  the  point  of  an  old  army  pistol,  which  she  kept 
upon  her  bureau. 

"  If  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you  come  a  step 
nearer,"  she  had  said  coolly,  and  the  man  had 
turned  to  run  into  the  arms  of  a  Federal  officer, 
who  was  sweeping  up  the  stragglers.  He  was  a 
blue-eyed  young  Northerner,  and  for  three  days 
after  that  he  had  set  a  guard  upon  the  portico  at 
Uplands.  The  memory  of  the  small  white-faced 
girl,  with  her  big  army  pistol  and  the  blazing  eyes 
haunted  him  from  that  hour  until  Appomattox, 
when  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  dismissed  it 
from  his  thoughts.  "  She  would  have  shot  the  ras- 
cal in  another  second,"  he  said  afterward,  "  and, 
by  George,  I  wish  she  had." 

The  Governor's  wine  cellar  was  emptied  long 
ago,  the  rare  old  wine  flowing  from  broken  casks 
across  the  hall. 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  Mrs.  Ambler  had  asked 
wearily,  watching  the  red  stream  drip  upon  the  por- 
tico. "  What  is  wine  when  our  soldiers  are  starv- 
ing for  bread?  And  besides,  war  lives  off  the  soil, 
as  your  father  used  to  say." 

Betty  lifted  her  skirts  and  stepped  over  the  bright 
puddles,  glancing  disdainfully  after  the  Hessian 
stragglers,  who  went  singing  down  the  drive. 

"  I  hope  their  officers  will  get  them,"  she  re- 
marked vindictively,  "  and  the  next  time  they  offer 
us  a  guard,  I  shall  accept  him  for  good  and  all,  if 


434  The  Battle-Ground 

he  happens  to  have  been  born  on  American  soil.  I 
don't  mind  Yankees  so  much  —  you  can  usually 
quiet  them  with  the  molasses  jug  —  but  these  for- 
eigners are  awful.  From  a  Hessian  or  a  renegade 
Virginian,  good  Lord  deliver  us." 

"  Some  of  them  have  kind  hearts,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Ambler,  wonderingly.  "  I  don't  see  how  they  can 
bear  to  come  down  to  fight  us.  The  Major  met 
General  McClellan,  you  know,  and  he  admitted 
afterwards  that  he  shouldn't  have  known  from 
his  manner  that  he  was  not  a  Southern  gentle- 
man." 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  has  left  us  a  shoulder  of  bacon 
in  the  smokehouse,"  replied  Betty,  laughing.  "  You 
haven't  eaten  a  mouthful  for  two  days,  mamma." 

"  I  don't  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to  eat,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Ambler.  "  It  seems  a  useless  extrava- 
gance when  every  little  bit  helps  the  army." 

"'  Well,  I  can't  support  the  army,  but  I  mean  to 
feed  you,"  returned  Betty  decisively,  and  she  went 
out  to  ask  Hosea  if  he  had  found  a  new  hiding 
place  for  the  cattle.  Except  upon  the  rare  morn- 
ings when  Mr.  Bill  left  his  fishing,  the  direction 
of  the  farm  had  fallen  entirely  upon  Betty's  shoul- 
ders. Wilson,  the  overseer,  was  in  the  army,  and 
Hosea  had  gradually  risen  to  take  his  place.  "  We 
must  keep  things  up,"  the  girl  had  insisted,  "  don't 
let  us  go  to  rack  and  ruin  —  papa  would  have  hated 
it  so,"  and,  with  the  negro's  aid,  she  had  struggled 
to  keep  up  the  common  tenor  of  the  old  country 
life. 

Rising  at  daybreak,  she  went  each  morning  to 
overlook  the  milking  of  the  cows,  hidden  in  their 


"The  Place  Thereof"  435 

retreat  among  the  hills ;  and  as  the  sun  rose  higher, 
she  came  back  to  start  the  field  hands  to  the  plough- 
ing and  the  women  to  the  looms  in  one  of  the  de- 
tached wings.  Then  there  was  the  big  storehouse 
to  go  into,  the  rations  of  the  servants  to  be  drawn 
from  their  secret  corners,  the  meal  to  be  measured, 
and  the  bacon  to  be  sliced  with  the  care  which 
fretted  her  lavish  hands.  After  this  there  came  the 
shucking  of  the  corn,  a  negro  frolic  even  in  war 
years,  so  long  as  there  was  any  corn  to  shuck,  and 
lastly  the  counting  of  the  full  bags  of  grain  be- 
fore the  heavy  wagon  was  sent  to  the  little  mill 
beside  the  river.  From  sunrise  to  sunset  the  girl's 
hands  were  not  idle  for  an  instant,  and  in  the 
long  evenings,  by  the  light  of  the  home-made  tal- 
low dips,  which  served  for  candles,  she  would  draw 
out  a  gray  yarn  stocking  and  knit  busily  for  the 
army,  while  she  tried,  with  an  aching  heart,  to 
cheer  her  mother.  Her  sunny  humour  had  made 
play  of  a  man's  work  as  of  a  woman's  anxiety. 

Sometimes,  on  bright  mornings,  Mr.  Bill  would 
stroll  over  with  his  rod  upon  his  shoulder  and  a 
string  of  silver  perch  in  his  hand.  He  had  grown 
old  and  very  feeble,  and  his  angling  had  become 
a  passion  mightier  than  an  army  with  bayonets. 
He  took  small  interest  in  the  war  —  at  times  he 
seemed  almost  unconscious  of  the  suffering  around 
him  —  but  he  enjoyed  his  chats  with  Union  officers 
upon  the  road,  who  occasionally  capped  his  stories 
of  big  sport  with  tales  of  mountain  trout  which 
they  had  drawn  from  Northern  streams.  He  would 
sit  for  hours  motionless  under  the  willows  by  the 
river,  and  once  when  his  house  was  fired,  during  a 


436  The  Battle-Ground 

raid  up  the  valley,  he  was  heard  to  remark  regretfully 
that  the  messenger  had  "  scared  away  his  first  bite 
in  an  hour."  Placid,  wide-girthed,  dull-faced,  in- 
nocent as  a  child,  he  sat  in  the  midst  of  war  dan* 
gling  his  line  above  the  silver  perch. 


VI 

THE   PEACEFUL   SIDE   OF   WAR 

On  a  sparkling  January  morning,  when  Lee's 
army  had  gone  into  winter  quarters  beside  the 
Rappahannock,  Dan  stood  in  the  doorway  of  his 
log  hut  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace,  while  he  watched 
a  messmate  putting  up  a  chimney  of  notched  sticks 
across  the  little  roadway  through  the  pines. 

"  You'd  better  get  Pinetop  to  daub  your  chinks 
for  you,"  he  suggested.  "  He  can  make  a  mixture 
of  wet  clay  and  sandstone  that  you  couldn't  tell 
from  mortar." 

"  You  jest  wait  till  I  git  through  these  shoes  an' 
I'll  show  you,"  remarked  Pinetop,  from  the  wood- 
pile, where  he  was  making  moccasins  of  untanned 
beef  hide  laced  with  strips  of  willow.  "  I  ain't 
goin'  to  set  my  bar'  feet  on  this  frozen  groun'  agin, 
if  I  can  help  it.  'Tain't  so  bad  in  summer, 
but,  I  d'clar  it  takes  all  the  spirit  out  of  a 
fight  when  you  have  to  run  bar-footed  over  the 
icy   stubble." 

"  Jack  Powell  lost  his  shoes  in  the  battle  of 
Fredericksburg,"  said  Baker,  as  he  carefully  fitted 
his  notched  sticks  together.  "  That's  why  he  got 
promoted,  I  reckon.  He  stepped  into  a  mud 
puddle,  and  his  feet  came  out  but  his  shoes 
didn't." 

437 


438  The  Battle-Ground 

"  Well,  I  dare  say,  it  was  cheaper  for  the  Gov* 
ernraent  to  give  him  a  title  than  a  pair  of  shoes," 
observed  Dan,  cynically.  "  Why,  you  are  going  in 
for  luxury!  Is  that  pile  of  oak  shingles  for  your 
roof?  We  made  ours  of  rails  covered  with  pine 
tags." 

"  And  the  first  storm  that  comes  along  sweeps 
them  off  —  yes,  I  know.  By  the  way,  can  anybody 
tell  me  if  there's  a  farmer  with  a  haystack  in  these 
parts  ?  " 

"  Pinetop  got  a  load  about  three  miles  up,"  re- 
plied Dan,  emptying  his  pipe  against  the  door  sill. 
"I  say,  who  is  that  cavalry  peacock  over  yonder? 
By  George,  it's  Champe !  " 

"  Perhaps  it's  General  Stuart,"  suggested  Baker 
witheringly,  as  Champe  came  composedly  between 
the  rows  of  huts,  pursued  by  the  frantic  jeers  of 
the  assembled  infantry. 

"  Take  them  earrings  off  yo'  heels  —  take  'em 
off !  Take  'em  off !  "  yelled  the  chorus,  as  his 
spurs  rang  on  the  stones.  "  My  gal  she  wants  'em 
—  take 'em  off!" 

"  Take  those  tatters  off  your  backs  —  take  'em 
off !  "  responded  Champe,  genial  and  undismayed, 
swinging  easily  along  in  his  worn  gray  uniform, 
his  black  plume  curling  over  his  soft  felt  hat. 

As  Dan  watched  him,  standing  in  the  doorway, 
he  felt,  with  a  sudden  melancholy,  that  a  mental 
gulf  had  yawned  between  them.  The  last  grim 
months  which  had  aged  him  with  experiences  as 
with  years,  had  left  Champe  apparently  unchanged. 
All  the  deeper  knowledge,  which  he  had  bought 
with  his  youth  for  the  price,  had  passed  over  his 


The  Peaceful  Side  of  War  439 

cousin  like  the  clouds,  leaving  him  merely  gay  and 
kind  as  he  had  been  of  old. 

"  Hello,  Beau !  "  called  Champe,  stretching  out 
his  hand  as  he  drew  near.  "  I  just  heard  you  were 
over  here,  so  I  thought  I'd  take  a  look.  How  goes 
the  war  ?  " 

Dan  refilled  his  pipe  and  borrowed  a  light  from 
Pinetop. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  fun  and  frolic  of  war  con- 
sist in  picket  duty  and  guarding  mule  teams." 

"  Well,  these  excessive  dissipations  have  taken  up 
so  much  of  your  time  that  I've  hardly  laid  eyes 
on  you  since  you  got  routed  by  malaria.  Any  news 
from  home  ?  " 

"  Grandma  sent  me  a  Christmas  box,  which  she 
smuggled  through,  heaven  knows  how.  We  had 
a  jolly  dinner  that  day,  and  Pinetop  and  I  put 
on  our  first  clean  ;lothes  for  three  months.  Big 
Abel  got  a  linsey  suit  made  at  Chericoke  —  I  hope 
he'll  come  along  in  it." 

"  Oh,  Beau,  Beau !  "  lamented  Champe.  "  How 
have  the  mighty  fallen?  You  aren't  so  particular 
now  about  wearing  only  white  or  black  ties,  I 
reckon." 

"  Well,  shoestrings  are  usually  black,  I  believe," 
returned  Dan,  with  a  laugh,  raising  his  hand  to  his 
throat. 

Champe  seated  himself  upon  the  end  of  an  oak 
log,  and  taking  off  his  hat,  ran  his  hand  through 
his  curling  hair.  "  I  was  at  home  last  summer  an 
a  furlough,"  he  remarked,  "and  I  declare,  I  hardly 
knew  the  valley.    If  we  ever  come  out  of  this  war 


44-0  The  Battle- Ground 

it  will  take  an  army  with  ploughshares  to  bring  the 
soil  up  again.  As  for  the  woods  —  well,  well,  we'll 
never  have  them  back  in  our  day." 

"  Did  you  see  Uplands?  "  asked  Dan  eagerly. 

"  For  a  moment.  It  was  hardly  safe,  you  know, 
so  I  was  at  home  only  a  day.  Grandpa  told  me  that 
the  place  had  lain  under  a  shadow  ever  since  Vir- 
ginia's death.  She  was  buried  in  Hollywood  —  it 
was  impossible  to  bring  her  through  the  lines  they 
said  —  and  Betty  and  Mrs.  Ambler  have  taken  this 
very  hardly." 

"  And  the  Governor,"  said  Dan,  with  a  tremor  in 
his  voice  as  he  thought  of  Betty. 

"And  Jack  Morson,"  added  Champe,  "he  fell 
at  Brandy  Station  when  I  was  with  him.  At  first 
he  was  wounded  only  slightly,  and  we  tried  to  get 
him  to  the  rear,  but  he  laughed  and  went  straight 
in  again.  It  was  a  sabre  cut  that  finished  him  at  the 
last." 

"  He  was  a  first-rate  chap,"  commented  Dan, 
"  but  I  never  knew  exactly  why  Virginia  fell  in 
love  with  him." 

"  The  other  fellow  never  does.  To  be  quite  can- 
did, it  is  beyond  my  comprehension  how  a  certain 
lady  can  prefer  the  infantry  to  the  cavalry  —  yet  she 
does  emphatically." 

Dan  coloured. 

"  Was  grandpa  well  ?  "  he  inquired  lamely. 

With  a  laugh  Champe  flung  one  leg  over  the 
other,  and  clasped  his  knee. 

"  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good,"  he  re- 
sponded. "  Grandpa's  thoughts  are  so  much  given 
to  the  Yankees  that  he  has  become  actually  angelic 


The  Peaceful  Side  of  War  441 

to  the  rest  of  us.  By  the  way,  do  you  know  that 
Mr.  Blake  is  in  the  army  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Dan,  aghast. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  he  really  carries  a  rifle  — 
though  he  swears  he  would  if  he  only  had  twenty 
years  off  his  shoulders  —  but  he  has  become  our 
chaplain  in  young  Chrysty's  place,  and  the  boys  say 
there  is  more  gun  powder  in  his  prayers  than  in  our 
biggest  battery." 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  exclaimed  Dan. 

"  You  ought  to  hear  him  —  it's  better  than  fight- 
ing on  your  own  account.  Last  Sunday  he  gave 
us  a  prayer  in  which  he  said :  '  O  Lord,  thou  know- 
est  that  we  are  the  greatest  army  thou  hast  ever 
seen;  put  forth  thy  hand  then  but  a  very  little  and 
we  will  whip  the  earth.'  By  Jove,  you  look  cosey 
here,"  he  added,  glancing  into  the  hut  where  Dan 
and  Pinetop  slept  in  bunks  of  straw.  "  I  hope 
the  roads  won't  dry  before  you've  warmed  your 
house."  He  shook  hands  again,  and  swung  off 
amid  the  renewed  jeers  that  issued  from  the  open 
doorways. 

Dan  watched  him  until  he  vanished  among  the 
distant  pines,  and  then,  turning,  went  into  the  little 
hut  where  he  found  Pinetop  sitting  before  a  rude 
chimney,  which  he  had  constructed  with  much 
labour.  A  small  book  was  open  on  his  knee,  over 
which  his  yellow  head  drooped  like  a  child's,  and 
Dan  saw  his  calm  face  reddened  by  the  glow  of 
the  great  log  fire. 

"  Hello !     What's  that  ?  "  he  inquired  lightly. 

The  mountaineer  started  from  his  abstraction,  and 
the  blood  swept  to  his  forehead  as  he  rose  from 


442  The  Battle-Ground 

the  half  of  a  flour  barrel  upon  which  he  had  been 
sitting. 

"  'Tain't  nothin',''  he  responded,  and  as  he  tow- 
ered to  his  great  height  his  fair  curls  brushed  the 
ceiling  of  crossed  rails.  In  his  awkwardness  the 
book  fell  to  the  floor,  and  before  he  could  reach  it, 
Dan  had  stooped,  with  a  laugh,  and  picked  it  up. 

"  I  say,  there  are  no  secrets  in  this  shebang,"  he 
said  smiling.  Then  the  smile  went  out,  and  his 
face  grew  suddenly  grave,  for,  as  the  book  fell  open 
in  his  hand,  he  saw  that  it  was  the  first  primer  of  a 
child,  and  on  the  thumbed  and  tattered  page  the 
word  "  RAT  "  stared  at  him  in  capital  letters. 

"  By  George,  man !  "  he  exclaimed  beneath  his 
breath,  as  he  turned  from  Pinetop  to  the  blazing 
logs. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  tragedy  of  hopeless  ignorance  for 
an  inquiring  mind,  and  the  shock  stunned  him,  at 
the  moment,  past  the  power  of  speech.  Until  know- 
ing Pinetop  he  had,  in  the  lofty  isolation  of  his 
class,  regarded  the  plebeian  in  the  light  of  an  alien 
to  the  soil,  not  as  a  victim  to  the  kindly  society  in 
which  he  himself  had  moved  —  a  society  produced 
by  that  free  labour  which  had  degraded  the  white 
workman  to  the  level  of  the  serf.  At  the  instant 
the  truth  pierced  home  to  him,  and  he  recognized 
it  in  all  the  grimness  of  its  pathos.  Beside  that 
genial  plantation  life  which  he  had  known  he  saw 
rising  the  wistful  figure  of  the  poor  man  doomed 
to  conditions  which  he  could  not  change  —  born, 
it  may  be,  like  Pinetop,  self-poised,  yet  with  an  un- 
taught intellect,  grasping,  like  him,  after  the  primi- 


The  Peaceful  Side  of  War  443 

tive  knowledge  which  should  be  the  birthright  of 
every  child.  Even  the  spectre  of  slavery,  which 
had  shadowed  his  thoughts,  as  it  had  those  of  many 
a  generous  mind  around  him,  faded  abruptly  before 
the  very  majesty  of  the  problem  that  faced  him 
now.  In  his  sympathy  for  the  slave,  whose  bond- 
age he  and  his  race  had  striven  to  make  easy,  he 
had  overlooked  the  white  sharer  of  the  negro's 
wrong.  To  men  like  Pinetop,  slavery,  stern  or  mild, 
could  be  but  an  equal  menace,  and  yet  these  were 
the  men  who,  when  Virginia  called,  came  from 
their  little  cabins  in  the  mountains,  who  tied  the 
flint-locks  upon  their  muskets  and  fought  uncom- 
plainingly until  the  end.  Not  the  need  to  protect  a 
decaying  institution,  but  the  instinct  in  every  free 
man  to  defend  the  soil,  had  brought  Pinetop,  as 
it  had  brought  Dan,  into  the  army  of  the  South. 

"  Look  here,  old  man,  you  haven't  been  quite 
fair  to  me,"  said  Dan,  after  the  long  silence.  "  Why 
didn't  you  ask  me  to  help  you  with  this  stuff?  " 

"  Wall,  I  thought  you'd  joke,"  replied  Pinetop 
blushing,   "  and   I  knew  yo'  nigger  would." 

"  Joke  ?  Good  Lord !  "  exclaimed  Dan.  "  Do  you 
think  I  was  born  with  so  short  a  memory,  you 
scamp  ?  Where  are  those  nights  on  the  way  to  Rom- 
ney  when  you  covered  me  with  your  overcoat  to 
keep  me  from  freezing  in  the  snow?  Where,  for 
that  matter,  is  that  march  in  Maryland  when  Big 
Abel  and  you  carried  me  three  miles  in  your  arms 
after  I  had  dropped  delirious  by  the  roadside?  If 
you  thought  I'd  joke  you  about  this,  Pinetop,  all  I 
can  say  is  that  you've  turned  into  a  confounded 
fool." 


444  The  Battle-Ground 

Pinetop  came  back  to  the  fire  and  seated  him- 
self upon  the  flour  barrel  in  the  corner.  "  'Twas 
this  way,  you  see,"  he  said,  breaking,  for  the  first 
time,  through  his  strong  mountain  reserve.  "  I 
al'ays'  thought  I'd  like  to  read  a  bit,  'specially  on 
winter  evenings  at  home,  when  the  nights  are  long 
and  you  don't  have  to  git  up  so  powerful  early  in 
the  mornings,  but  when  I  was  leetle  thar  warn't  no- 
body to  teach  me  how  to  begin ;  maw  she  didn't 
know  nothin'  an'  paw  he  was  dead,  though  he  never 
got  beyond  the  first  reader  when  he  was  'live." 

He  looked  up  and  Dan  nodded  gravely  over  his 
pipe. 

"  Then  when  I  got  bigger  I  had  to  work  mighty 
hard  to  keep  things  goin'  —  an'  it  seemed  to  me 
every  time  I  took  out  that  thar  leetle  book  at  night 
I  got  so  dead  sleepy  I  couldn't  tell  one  letter  from 
another;  A  looked  jest  like  Z." 

"  I  see,"  said  Dan  quietly.  "  Well,  there's  time 
enough  here  anyhow.  It  will  be  a  good  way  to 
pass  the  evenings."  He  opened  the  primer  and  laid 
it  on  his  knee,  running  his  fingers  carelessly  through 
its  dog-eared  pages.  "  Do  you  know  your  letters  ?  " 
he  inquired  in  a  professional  tone. 

"  Lordy,  yes,"  responded  Pinetop.  "  I've  got 
about  as  fur  as  this  here  place."  He  crossed  to 
where  Dan  sat  and  pointed  with  a  long  forefinger 
to  the  printed  words,  his  mild  blue  eyes  beaming 
with  excitement. 

"  I  reckon  I  kin  read  that  by  myself,"  he 
added  with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  "  T-h-e  c-a-t 
c-a-u-g-h-t  t-h-e  r-a-t.    Ain't  that  right  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.     We'll  pass  on  to  the  next."     And 


The   Peaceful   Side  of  War  445 

they  did  so,  sitting  on  the  halves  of  a  divided  flour 
barrel  before  the  blazing  chimney. 

From  this  time  there  were  regular  lessons  in 
the  little  hut,  Pinetop  drawling  over  the  soiled 
primer,  or  crouching,  with  his  long  legs  twisted 
under  him  and  his  elbows  awkwardly  extended, 
while  he  filled  a  sheet  of  paper  with  sprawling 
letters. 

"  I'll  be  able  to  write  to  the  old  woman  soon,"  he 
chuckled  jubilantly,  "  an'  she'll  have  to  walk  all  the 
way  down  the  mounting  to  git  it  read." 

"  You'll  be  a  scholar  yet  if  this  keeps  up,"  replied 
Dan,  slapping  him  upon  the  shoulder,  as  the  moun- 
taineer glanced  up  with  a  pleased  and  shining 
face.  "  Why,  you  mastered  that  first  reader  there 
in  no  time." 

"  A  powerful  heap  of  larnin'  has  to  pass  through 
yo'  head  to  git  a  leetle  to  stick  thar,"  commented 
Pinetop,  wrinkling  his  brows.  "  Air  we  goin'  to 
have  the  big  book  agin  to-night  ?  " 

"  The  big  book  "  was  a  garbled  version  of  "  Les 
Miserables,"  which,  after  running  the  blockade 
with  a  daring  English  sailor,  had  passed  from  regi- 
ment to  regiment  in  the  resting  army.  At  first  Dan 
had  begun  to  read  with  only  Pinetop  for  a  listener, 
but  gradually,  as  the  tale  unfolded,  a  group  of 
eager  privates  filled  the  little  hut  and  even  hung 
breathlessly  about  the  doorway  in  the  winter  nights. 
They  were  mostly  gaunt,  unwashed  volunteers  from 
the  hills  or  the  low  countries,  to  whom  literature 
was  only  a  vast  silence  and  life  a  courageous 
struggle  against  greater  odds.  To  Dan  the  pic- 
turesaueness  of  the  scene  lent  itself  with  all  the 


446  1  he   Battle-Ground 

force  of  its  strong  lights  and  shadows,  and  with  the 
glow  of  the  pine  torches  on  the  open  page,  his  eyes 
would  sometimes  wander  from  the  words  to  rest 
upon  the  kindling  faces  in  the  shaggy  circle  by  the 
fire.  Dirty,  hollow-eyed,  unshaven,  it  sat  spell- 
bound by  the  magic  of  the  tale  it  could  not  read. 

"  By  Gosh !  that's  a  blamed  good  bishop,"  re- 
marked an  unkempt  smoker  one  evening  from  the 
threshold,  where  his  beef-hide  shoes  were  covered 
with  fine  snow.  "  I  don't  reckon  Marse  Robert 
could  ha'  beat  that." 

"  Marse  Robert  ain't  never  tried,"  put  in  a  com- 
panion by  the  fire. 

"  Wall,  I  ain't  sayin'  he  had,"  corrected  the  first 
speaker,  through  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "  Lord,  I  hope 
when  my  time  comes  I  kin  slip  into  heaven  on 
Marse  Robert's  coat-tails." 

"  If  you  don't,  you  won't  never  git  thar!  "  jeered 
the  second.  Then  they  settled  themselves  again, 
and  listened  with  sombre  faces  and  twitching  lips. 

It  was  during  this  winter  that  Dan  learned  how 
one  man's  influence  may  fuse  individual  and  op- 
posing wills  into  a  single  supreme  endeavour.  The 
Army  of  Northern  Virginia,  as  he  saw  it  then,  was 
moulded,  sustained,  and  made  effective  less  ky  the 
authority  of  the  Commander  than  by  the  simple 
power  of  Lee  over  the  hearts  of  the  men  who  bore 
his  muskets.  For  a  time  Dan  had  sought  to  trace 
the  groundspring  of  this  impassioned  loyalty,  seek- 
ing a  reason  that  could  not  be  found  in  generals 
less  beloved.  Surely  it  was  not  the  illuminated  fig- 
ure of  the  conqueror,  for  when  had  the  Commander 
held  closer  the  affection  of  his  troops  than  in  that 


The  Peaceful  Side  of  War  447 

ill-starred  campaign  into  Maryland,  which  left  the 
moral  victory  of  a  superb  fight  in  McClellan's 
hands?  No,  the  charm  lay  deeper  still,  beyond  all 
the  fictitious  aids  of  fortune  —  somewhere  in  that 
serene  and  noble  presence  he  had  met  one  evening 
as  the  gray  dusk  closed,  riding  alone  on  an  old  road 
between  level  fields.  After  this  it  was  always  as 
a  high  figure  against  a  low  horizon  that  he  had 
seen  the  man  who  made  his  army. 

As  the  long  winter  passed  away,  he  learned,  not 
only  much  of  the  spirit  of  his  own  side,  but  some- 
thing that  became  almost  a  sunny  tolerance,  of 
the  great  blue  army  across  the  Rappahannock.  He 
had  exchanged  Virginian  tobacco  for  Northern 
coffee  at  the  outposts,  and  when  on  picket  duty 
along  the  cold  banks  of  the  river  he  would  some- 
times shout  questions  and  replies  across  the 
stream.  In  these  meetings  there  was  only  a  wide 
curiosity  with  little  bitterness ;  and  once  a  friendly 
New  England  picket  had  delivered  a  religious 
homily  from  the  opposite  shore,  as  he  leaned  upon 
his  rifle. 

"  I  didn't  think  much  of  you  Rebs  before  I  came 
down  here,"  he  had  concluded  in  a  precise  and  en- 
ergetic shout,  "  but  I  guess,  after  all,  you've  got 
souls  in  your  bodies  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  reckon  we  have.    Any  coffee  over  your  side  ?  " 

"  Plenty.  The  war's  interfered  considerably  with 
the  tobacco  crop,  ain't  it?" 

"  Well,  rather ;  we've  enough  for  ourselves,  but 
none  to  offer  our  visitors." 

"  Look  here,  are  all  these  things  about  you  in  the 
papers  gospel  truth  ?  " 


448  The  Battle- Ground 

"  Can't  say.     What  things  ?  " 

"  Do  you  always  carry  bowie  knives  into  battle?" 

"  No,  we  use  scissors  —  they're  more  convenient." 

"  When  you  catch  a  runaway  nigger  do  you  chop 
him  up  in  little  pieces  and  throw  him  to  the  hogs  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  We  boil  him  down  and  grease 
our  cartridges." 

"  After  Bull  Run  did  you  set  up  all  the  live 
Zouaves  you  got  hold  of  as  targets  for  rifle  prac- 
tice?" 

"  Can't  remember  about  the  Zouaves.  Rather 
think  we  made  them  into  flags." 

"  Well,  you  Rebels  take  the  breath  out  of  me," 
commented  the  picket  across  the  river ;  and  then,  as 
the  relief  came,  Dan  hurried  back  to  look  for  the  mail 
bag  and  a  letter  from  Betty.  For  Betty  wrote  often 
these  days  —  letters  sometimes  practical,  sometimes 
impassioned,  always  filled  with  cheer,  and  often  with 
bright  gossip.  Of  her  own  struggle  at  Uplands 
and  the  long  days  crowded  with  work,  she  wrote 
no  word ;  all  her  sympathy,  all  her  large  passion, 
and  all  her  wise  advice  in  little  matters  were  for 
Dan  from  the  beginning  to  the  end.  She  made  him 
promise  to  keep  warm  if  it  were  possible,  to  read 
his  Bible  when  he  had  the  time,  and  to  think  of 
her  at  all  hours  in  every  season.  In  a  neat  little 
package  there  came  one  day  a  gray  knitted  waist- 
coat which  he  was  to  wear  when  on  picket  duty 
beside  the  river,  "  and  be  very  sure  to  fasten  it," 
she  had  written.  "  I  have  sewed  the  buttons  on  so 
tight  they  can't  come  off.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  papa 
and  Virginia  and  you  back  again  I  could  be  happy 
in  a  hovel.    Dear  mamma  says  so,  too." 


The   Peaceful   Side  of  War  449 

And  after  much  calm  advice  there  would  come 
whole  pages  that  warmed  him  from  head  to  foot. 
"  Your  kisses  are  still  on  my  lips,"  she  wrote  one 
day.  "  The  Major  said  to  me,  '  Your  mouth  is 
very  warm,  my  dear,'  and  I  almost  answered,  '  you 
feel  Dan's  kisses,  sir.'  What  would  he  have  said, 
do  you  think?  As  it  was  I  only  smiled  and  turned 
away,  and  longed  to  run  straight  to  you  to  be  caught 
up  in  your  arms  and  held  there  forever.  O  my  be- 
loved, when  you  need  me  only  stretch  out  your 
hands  and  I  will  come." 


VII 

THE    SILENT   BATTLE 

Despite  the  cheerfulness  of  Betty's  letters,  there 
were  times  during  the  next  dark  years  when  it 
seemed  to  her  that  starvation  must  be  the  only  end. 
The  negroes  had  been  freed  by  the  Governor's  will, 
but  the  girl  could  not  turn  them  from  their  homes, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  the  few  field  hands  who 
had  followed  the  Union  army,  they  still  lived  in 
their  little  cabins  and  drew  their  daily  rations  from 
the  storehouse.  Betty  herself  shared  their  rations 
of  cornmeal  and  bacon,  jealously  guarding  her  small 
supplies  of  milk  and  eggs  for  Mrs.  Ambler  and  the 
two  old  ladies.  "  It  makes  no  difference  what  I 
eat,"  she  would  assure  protesting  Mammy  Riah. 
"  I  am  so  strong,  you  see,  and  besides  I  really  like 
Aunt  Floretta's  ashcakes." 

Spring  and  summer  passed,  with  the  ripened  veg- 
etables which  Hosea  had  planted  in  the  garden,  and 
the  long  winter  brought  with  it  the  old  daily  strug- 
gle to  make  the  slim  barrels  of  meal  last  until  the 
next  harvesting.  It  was  in  this  year  that  the  four 
women  at  Uplands  followed  the  Major's  lead  and 
invested  their  united  fortune  in  Confederate  bonds. 
"  We  will  rise  or  fall  with  the  government,"  Mrs. 
Ambler  had  said  with  her  gentle  authority.  "  Since 
we  have  given  it  our  best,  let  it  take  all  freely." 

"  Surely  money  is  of  no  matter,"  Betty  had  an- 

45° 


The  Silent  Battle  451 

swered,  lavishly  disregardful  of  worldly  goods. 
"Do  you  think  we  might  give  our  jewels,  too?  I 
have  grandma's  pearls  hidden  beneath  the  floor, 
you  know." 

"  If  need  be  —  let  us  wait,  dear,"  replied  her 
mother,  who,  grave  and  pallid  as  a  ghost,  would 
eat  nothing  that,  by  any  chance,  could  be  made  to 
reach  the  army. 

"  I  do  not  want  it,  my  child,  there  are  so  many 
hungrier  than  I,"  she  would  say  when  Betty  brought 
her  dainty  little  trays  from  the  pantry. 

"  But  I  am  hungry  for  you,  mamma  —  take  it 
for  my  sake,"  the  girl  would  beg,  on  the  point  of 
tears.  "  You  are  starving,  that  is  it  —  and  yet  it 
does  not  feed  the  army." 

In  these  days  it  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  anguish 
of  her  life  had  centred  in  the  single  fear  of  losing 
her  mother.  At  times  she  almost  reproached  herself 
with  loving  Dan  too  much,  and  for  months  she 
would  resolutely  keep  her  thoughts  from  following 
him,  while  she  laid  her  impassioned  service  at  her 
mother's  feet.  Day  or  night  there  was  hardly  a 
moment  when  she  was  not  beside  her,  trying,  by 
very  force  of  love,  to  hold  her  back  from  the  death 
to  which  she  went  with  her  slow  and  stately  tread. 

For  Mrs.  Ambler,  who  had  kept  her  strength  for 
a  year  after  the  Governor's  death,  seemed  at  last  to 
be  gently  withdrawing  from  a  place  in  which  she 
found  herself  a  stranger.  There  was  nothing  to  de- 
tain her  now  ;  she  was  too  heartsick  to  adapt  herself 
to  many  changes ;  loss  and  approaching  poverty 
might  be  borne  by  one  for  whom  the  chief  thing  yet 
remained,  but  she  had  seen  this  go,  and  so  she 


452  The  Battle-Ground 

waited,  with  her  pensive  smile,  for  the  momenf 
when  she  too  might  follow.  If  Betty  were  not  look- 
ing she  would  put  her  untasted  food  aside ;  but  the 
girl  soon  found  this  out,  and  watched  her  every 
mouthful  with  imploring  eyes. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  do  it  to  please  me,"  she  entreated. 

"  Well,  give  it  back,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Ambler  an- 
swered, complaisant  as  always,  and  when  Betty 
triumphantly  declared,  "  You  feel  better  now  —  you 
know  you  do,  you  dearest,"  she  responded  read- 
ily:- 

"Much  better,  darling;  give  me  some  straw  to 
plait  —  I  have  grown  to  like  to  have  my  hands 
busy.  Your  old  bonnet  is  almost  gone,  so  I  shall 
plait  you  one  of  this  and  trim  it  with  a  piece  of 
ribbon  Aunt  Lydia  found  yesterday  in  the  attic." 

"  I  don't  mind  going  bareheaded,  if  you  will  onlv 
eat." 

"  I  was  never  a  hearty  eater.  Your  father  used 
to  say  that  I  ate  less  than  a  robin.  It  was  the  cus- 
tom for  ladies  to  have  delicate  appetites  in  my  day, 
you  see ;  and  I  remember  your  grandma's  amaze- 
ment when  Miss  Pokey  Mickleborough  was  asked 
at  our  table  what  piece  of  chicken  she  preferred,  and 
answered  quite  aloud,  '  Leg,  if  you  please.'  She 
was  considered  very  indelicate  by  your  grandma, 
who  had  never  so  much  as  tasted  any  part  except 
the  wing." 

She  sat,  gentle  and  upright,  in  her  rosewood 
chair,  her  worn  silk  dress  rustling  as  she  crossed  her 
feet,  her  beautiful  hands  moving  rapidly  with  the 
straw  plaiting.  "  I  was  brought  up  very  carefully, 
my  dear,"  she  added,  turning  her  head  with  its 


The  Silent  Battle  453 

shining  bands  of  hair  a  little  silvered  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war.  "  '  A  girl  is  like  a  flower,'  your 
grandpa  always  said.  '  If  a  rough  wind  blows  near 
her,  her  bloom  is  faded.'  Things  are  different  now 
—  very  different." 

"  But  this  is  war,"  said  Betty. 

Mrs.  Ambler  nodded  over  the  slender  braid. 

"  Yes,  this  is  war,"  she  added  with  her  wistful 
smile,  and  a  moment  afterward  looked  up  again  to 
ask  in  a  dazed  way :  — 

"What  was  the  last  battle,  dear?  I  can't  re- 
member." 

Betty's  glance  sought  the  lawn  outside  where  the 
warm  May  sunshine  fell  in  shafts  of  light  upon 
the  purple  lilacs. 

"  They  are  fighting  now  in  the  Wilderness,"  she 
answered,  her  thoughts  rushing  to  the  famished 
army  closed  in  the  death  grapple  with  its  enemy. 
"  Dan  got  a  letter  to  me  and  he  says  it  is  like  fight- 
ing in  a  jungle,  the  vines  are  so  thick  they  can't 
see  the  other  side.  He  has  to  aim  by  ear  instead  of 
sight." 

Mrs.  Ambler's  fingers  moved  quickly. 

"  He  has  become  a  very  fine  man,"  she  said. 
"  Your  father  always  liked  him  —  and  so  did  I  — 
but  at  one  time  we  were  afraid  that  he  was  going  to 
be  too  much  his  father's  son  —  he  looked  so  like 
him  on  his  wild  days,  especially  when  he  had  taken 
wine  and  his  colour  went  high." 

"  But  he  has  the  Lightfoot  eyes.  The  Major, 
Champe,  even  their  Great-aunt  Emmeline  have 
those  same  gray  eyes  that  are  always  laughing." 

"Jane   Lightfoot  had   them,   too,"   added    Mrs, 

Fiction,  Vol.   15 — 20 


454  The  Battle- Ground 

Ambler.  "  She  used  to  say  that  to  love  hard  went 
with  them.  '  The  Lightfoot  eyes  are  never  disillu- 
sioned/ she  once  told  me.  I  wonder  if  she  remem- 
bered that  afterwards,  poor  girl." 

Betty  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  It  sounds  cruel,"  she  confessed,  "  but  you 
know,  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  it  may  have 
been  just  a  little  bit  her  fault,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Ambler  smiled.  "  Your  grandpa  used  to 
say  '  get  a  woman  to  judge  a  woman  and  there 
comes  a  hanging.' " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  responded  Betty,  blush- 
ing. "  Jack  Mont  joy  was  a  scoundrel,  I  suppose  — 
but  I  think  that  even  if  Dan  had  been  a  scoundrel, 
instead  of  so  big  and  noble  —  I  could  have  made 
his  life  so  much  better  just  because  I  loved  him; 
if  love  is  only  large  enough  it  seems  to  me  that  all 
such  things  as  being  good  and  bad  are  swallowed 
up." 

"  I  don't  know  —  your  father  was  very  good, 
and  I  loved  him  because  of  it.  He  was  of  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  as  Mr.  Blake  wrote  to  me  last  year." 

"  There  has  never  been  anybody  like  papa,"  said 
Betty,  her  eyes  filling.  "  Not  even  Dan  —  for  I  can't 
imagine  papa  being  anything  but  what  he  was  —  and 
^yet  I  know  even  if  Dan  were  as  wild  as  the  Major 
once  believed  him  to  be,  I  could  have  gone  with  him 
not  the  least  bit  afraid.  I  was  so  sure  of  myself  that 
if  he  had  beaten  me  he  could  not  have  broken  my 
spirit.  I  should  always  have  known  that  some  day 
he  would  need  me  and  be  sorry." 

Tender,  pensive,  bred  in  the  ancient  ways,  Mrs. 
Ambler  looked  up  at  her  and  shook  her  head. 


The  Silent  Battle  455 

"  You  are  very  strong,  my  child,"  she  answered, 
"  and  I  think  it  makes  us  all  lean  too  much  upon 
you." 

Taking  her  hand,  Betty  kissed  each  slender  fin- 
ger. "  I  lean  on  you  for  the  best  in  life,  mamma," 
she  answered,  and  then  turned  to  the  window.  "  It's 
my  working  time,"  she  said,  "  and  there  is  poor 
Hosea  trying  to  plough  without  horses.  I  wonder 
how  he'll  manage  it." 

"  Are  all  the  horses  gone,  dear  ?  " 

"  All  except  Prince  Rupert  and  papa's  mare. 
Peter  keeps  them  hidden  in  the  mountains,  and  I 
carried  them  the  last  two  apples  yesterday.  Prince 
Rupert  knew  me  in  the  distance  and  whinnied  be- 
fore Peter  saw  me.  Now  I'll  send  Aunt  Lydia  to 
you,  dearest,  while  I  see  about  the  weaving. 
Mammy  Riah  has  almost  finished  my  linsey  dress." 
She  kissed  her  again  and  went  out  to  where 
the  looms  were  working  in  one  of  the  detached 
wings. 

The  summer  went  by  slowly.  The  famished  army 
fell  back  inch  by  inch,  and  at  Uplands  the  battle 
grew  more  desperate  with  the  days.  Without  horses 
it  was  impossible  to  plant  the  crops  and  on  the  open 
turnpike  swept  by  bands  of  raiders  as  by  armies,  it 
was  no  less  impossible  to  keep  the  little  that  was 
planted.  Betty,  standing  at  her  window  in  the  early 
mornings,  would  glance  despairingly  over  the 
wasted  fields  and  the  quiet  little  cabins,  where  the 
negroes  were  stirring  about  their  work.  Those 
little  cabins,  forming  a  crescent  against  the  green 
hill,  caused  her  an  anxiety  before  which  her  own 
daily   suffering   was  of   less   account.      When   the 


456  The  Battle- Ground 

time  came  that  was  fast  approaching,  and  the  se- 
cret places  were  emptied  of  their  last  supplies, 
where  could  those  faithful  people  turn  in  their  dis- 
tress? The  question  stabbed  her  like  a  sword  each 
morning  before  she  put  on  her  bonnet  of  plaited 
straw  and  ran  out  to  make  her  first  round  of  the 
farm.  Behind  her  cheerful  smile  there  was  always 
the  grim  fear  growing  sharper  every  hour. 

Then  on  a  golden  summer  afternoon,  when  the 
larder  had  been  swept  by  a  band  of  raiders,  she 
became  suddenly  aware  that  there  was  nothing  in 
the  house  for  her  mother's  supper,  and,  with  the 
army  pistol  in  her  hand,  set  out  across  the  fields  for 
Chericoke.  As  she  walked  over  the  sunny  meadows, 
the  shadow  that  was  always  lifted  in  Mrs.  Ambler's 
presence  fell  heavily  upon  her  face  and  she  choked 
back  a  rising  sob.  What  would  the  end  be?  she 
asked  herself  in  sudden  anguish,  or  was  this  the 
end? 

Reaching  Chericoke  she  found  Mrs.  Lightfoot 
and  Aunt  Rhody  drying  sliced  sweet  potatoes  on 
boards  along  the  garden  fence,  where  the  sunflowers 
and  hollyhocks  flaunted  in  the  face  of  want. 

"  I've  just  gotten  a  new  recipe  for  coffee,  child," 
the  old  lady  began  in  mild  excitement.  "  Last  year 
I  made  it  entirely  of  sweet  potatoes,  but  Mrs.  Blake 
tells  me  that  she  mixes  rye  and  a  few  roasted  chest- 
nuts. Mr.  Lightfoot  took  supper  with  her  a  week 
ago,  and  he  actually  congratulated  her  upon  still 
keeping  her  real  old  Mocha.    Be  sure  to  try  it." 

"  Indeed  I  shall  —  the  very  next  time  Hosea  gets 
any  sweet  potatoes.  Some  raiders  have  just  dug  up 
the  last  with  their  sabres  and  eaten  them  raw." 


The  Silent  Battle  457 

"  Well,  they'll  certainly  have  colic,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Lightfoot,  with  professional  interest. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Betty,  "  but  I've  come  over  to 
beg  something  for  mamma's  supper  —  eggs,  chick' 
ens,  anything  except  bacon.  She  can't  touch  that, 
she'd  starve  first." 

Looking  anxious,  Mrs.  Lightfoot  appealed  to 
Aunt  Rhody,  who  was  busily  spreading  little  squares 
of  sweet  potatoes  on  the  clean  boards.  "  Rhody, 
can't  you  possibly  find  us  some  eggs  ? "  she  in- 
quired. 

Aunt  Rhody  stopped  her  work  and  turned  upon 
them  all  the  dignity  of  two  hundred  pounds  of 
flesh. 

"  How  de  hens  gwine  lay  w'en  dey's  done  been 
eaten  up  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Isn't  there  a  single  chicken  left  ? "  hopelessly 
persisted  the  old  lady. 

"  Who  gwine  lef '  'em  ?  Ain'  dose  low-lif eted 
sodgers  dat  rid  by  yestiddy  done  stole  de  las'  one  un 
'urn  off  de  nes'  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  sternly  remonstrated. 

"  They  were  our  own  soldiers,  Rhody,  and  they 
don't  steal  —  they  merely  take." 

"  I  don'  see  de  diffunce,"  sniffed  Aunt  Rhody. 
"  All  I  know  is  dat  dey  pulled  de  black  hen  plum  off 
de  nes'  whar  she  wuz  a-settin'.  Den  des  now  de 
Yankees  come  a-prancin'  up  en  de  ducks  tuck  ter  de 
water  en  de  Yankees  dey  went  a-wadin'  atter  dem. 
Yes,  Lawd,  dey  went  a-wadin'  wid  dey  shoes  on." 

The  old  lady  sighed. 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  nothing,  Betty,"  she  said, 
"  though  Congo  has  gone  to  town  to  see  if  he  can 


45  8  The  Battle-Ground 

find  any  fowls,  and  I'll  send  some  over  if  he  brings 
them.  We  had  a  Sherman  pudding  for  dinner  our- 
selves, and  I  know  the  sorghum  in  it  will  give  the 
Major  gout  for  a  month.  Well,  well,  this  is  war,  I 
reckon,  and  I  must  say,  for  my  part,  I  never  ex- 
pected it  to  be  conducted  like  a  flirtation  behind  a 
fan." 

"  I  nuver  seed  no  use  a-fittin'  unless  you  is  gwine 
ter  fit  in  de  yuther  pusson's  yawd,"  interpolated 
Aunt  Rhody.  "  De  way  ter  fit  is  ter  keep  a-sidlin' 
furder  f'om  yo'  own  hen  roos'  en  nigher  ter  de  hen 
roos'  er  de  somebody  dat's  a-fittin'  you." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Rhody,"  retorted  Mrs.  Light- 
foot,  and  then  drew  Betty  a  little  to  one  side.  "  I 
have  some  port  wine,  my  dear,"  she  whispered, 
"  which  Cupid  buried  under  the  old  asparagus  bed, 
and  I'll  tell  him  to  dig  up  several  bottles  and  take 
them  to  you.  The  other  servants  don't  know  of  it, 
so  I  can't  get  it  out  till  after  dark.  Poor  Julia! 
how  does  she  stand  these  terrible  days  ?  " 

Betty's  lips  quivered.  "  I  have  to  force  her  to 
eat,"  she  replied,  "  and  it  seems  almost  cruel  —  she 
is  so  tired  of  life." 

"  I  know,  my  dear,"  responded  the  old  lady,  wip- 
ing her  eyes ;  "  and  we  have  our  troubles,  too. 
Champe  is  in  prison  now,  and  Mr.  Lightfoot  is  very 
much  upset.  He  says  this  General  Grant  is  not  like 
the  others,  that  he  knows  him  —  and  he's  the  kind 
to  hang  on  as  long  as  he's  alive." 

"  But  we  must  win  in  the  end,"  said  Betty,  des- 
perately ;  "  we  have  sacrificed  so  much,  how  can  it 
all  be  lost?" 

"  That's  what  Mr.  Lightfoot  says  —  we'll  win  in 


The  Silent  Battle  459 

the  end,  but  the  end's  a  long  way  off.  By  the  way, 
did  you  know  that  Car'line  had  run  off  after  the 
Yankees?  When  I  think  how  that  girl  had  been 
spoiled !  " 

"  Oh,  I  wish  they'd  all  go,"  returned  Betty.  "  All 
except  Mammy  and  Uncle  Shadrach  and  Hosea  — 
and  even  they  make  starvation  that  much  nearer." 

"  Well,  we  shan't  starve  yet  awhile,  dear ;  I'm  in 
hopes  that  Congo  will  ransack  the  town.  If  you 
would  only  stay." 

But  Betty  shook  her  head  and  went  back  across 
the  meadows,  walking  rapidly  through  the  lush 
grass  of  the  deserted  pastures.  Her  mind  was  so 
filled  with  Mrs.  Lightfoot's  forebodings,  that  when, 
in  climbing  the  low  stone  wall,  she  saw  the  free 
negro,  Levi,  coming  toward  her,  she  turned  to  him 
with  a  gesture  that  was  almost  an  appeal  for  sym- 
pathy. 

"  Uncle  Levi,  these  are  sad  times  now,"  she  said. 
"  I  am  looking  for  something  for  mamma's  supper 
and  I  can  find  nothing." 

The  old  negro,  shabbier,  lonelier,  poorer  than  ever, 
shambled  up  to  the  wall  where  she  was  standing  and 
uncovered  a  split  basket  full  of  eggs. 

"  I'se  got  a  pa'cel  er  hens  hid  in  de  woods  over 
yonder,"  he  explained,  "  en  I  keep  de  eggs  behin' 
de  j'ists  in  my  cabin.  Sis  Floretty  she  tole  me  dat 
de  w'ite  folks  wuz  wuss  off  den  de  niggers  now,  so 
I  brung  you  dese."  , 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Levi ! "  cried  Betty,  seizing  his 
gnarled  old  hands.  As  she  looked  at  his  stricken  fig- 
ure a  compassion  as  acute  as  pain  brought  the  quick 
tears  to  her  eyes.     She  remembered  the  isolation  of 


460  The  Battle-Ground 

his  life,  the  scornful  suspicion  he  had  met  from  white 
and  black,  and  the  injustice  that  had  set  him  free 
and  sold  Sarindy  up  the  river. 

"  You  wuz  moughty  good  ter  me,"  muttered  free 
Levi,  shuffling  his  bare  feet  in  the  long  grass,  "  en 
Marse  Dan,  he  wuz  moughty  good  ter  me,  too,  'fo' 
he  went  away  on  dat  black  night.  I  'members  de 
time  w'en  dat  ole  Rainy-day  Jones  up  de  big  road 
(we  all  call  him  Rainy-day  caze  he  looked  so  sour) 
had  me  right  by  de  collar  wid  de  hick'ry  branch 
a  sizzlin'  in  de  a'r,  en  I  des  'lowed  de  een  had  mos' 
come.  Yes,  Lawd,  I  did,  but  I  warn'  countin'  on 
Marse  Dan.  He  warn'  mo'n  wais'  high  ter  ole 
Rainy-day,  but  de  furs'  thing  I  know  dar  wuz  ole 
Rainy-day  on  de  yerth  wid  Marse  Dan  a-lashin'  'im 
wid  de  branch  er  hick'ry." 

"  We  shall  never  forget  you  —  Dan  and  I,"  an- 
swered Betty,  as  she  took  the  basket,  "  and  when 
the  time  comes  we  will  repay  you." 

The  old  negro  smiled  and  turned  from  her,  and 
Betty,  quickening  her  pace,  ran  on  to  Uplands, 
reaching  the  house  a  little  breathless  from  the  long 
walk. 

In  the  chamber  upstairs  she  found  Mrs.  Ambler 
sitting  before  the  window  with  her  open  Bible  on 
the  sill,  where  a  spray  of  musk  roses  entered  from 
the  outside  wall. 

"  All  well,  mamma?"  she  asked  in  a  cheerful 
voice. 

Mrs.  Ambler  started  and  turned  slowly  from  the 
window. 

"  I  see  a  great  light  on  the  road,"  she  murmured 
wonderingly. 


The  Silent   Battle  461 

Crossing  to  where  she  sat,  Betty  leaned  out  above 
the  climbing  roses  and  glanced  to  the  mountains 
huddled  against  the  sky. 

"  It  is  General  Sheridan  going  up  the  valley,"  she 
said. 


VIII 


THE    LAST   STAND 


In  the  face  of  a  damp  April  wind  a  remnant  of 
Lee's  army  pushed  forward  along  an  old  road  skirted 
by  thin  pine  woods.  As  the  column  moved  on 
slowly,  it  threw  out  skirmishers  on  either  flank, 
where  the  Federal  cavalry  hovered  in  the  distance. 
Once  in  an  open  clearing  it  formed  into  a  hollow 
square  and  marched  in  battle  line  to  avoid  capture. 
While  the  regiments  kept  in  motion  the  men  walked 
steadily  in  the  ranks,  with  their  hollowed  eyes 
staring  straight  ahead  from  their  gaunt,  tanned 
faces ;  but  at  the  first  halt  they  fell  like  logs  upon 
the  roadside,  sleeping  amid  the  sound  of  shots  and 
the  stinging  cavalry.  With  the  cry  of  "  Forward !  " 
they  struggled  to  their  feet  again,  and  went  stum- 
bling on  into  the  vast  uncertainty  and  the  approach- 
ing night.  Breathless,  starving,  with  their  rags 
pinned  together,  and  their  mouths  bleeding  from 
three  days'  rations  of  parched  corn,  they  still  kept 
onward,  marching  with  determined  eyes  to  whatever 
and  wherever  the  end  might  be.  Petersburg  had 
fallen,  Richmond  was  in  flames  behind  them,  the 
Confederacy  was,  perhaps,  buried  in  the  ruins  of  its 
Capitol,  but  Lee  was  still  somewhere  to  the  front, 
so  his  army  followed. 

"  How  long  have  we  been  marching,  boys  ?  I  can't 
462 


The  Last  Stand  463 

remember,"  asked  Dan,  when,  after  a  short  rest, 
they  formed  again  and  started  forward  over  the  old 
road.  In  the  tatters  of  his  gray  uniform,  with  his 
broken  shoes  tied  on  his  feet  and  his  black  hair 
hanging  across  his  eyes,  he  might  have  been  one  of 
the  beggars  who  warm  themselves  in  the  sun  of 
Southern  countries. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  we  left  the  Garden  of  Eden  about 
six  thousand  years  ago,"  responded  a  wag  from 
somewhere  —  he  was  too  tired  to  recognize  the 
voice.  "  There !  the  skirmishers  have  struck  that 
blamed  cavalry  again.  Plague  them !  They're  as 
bad  as  wasps !  " 

"  Has  anybody  some  parched  corn  ? "  inquired 
Bland,  plaintively.  "  I'll  trade  a  whole  raw  ear  for 
it.    It  makes  my  gums  bleed  so,  I  can't  chew  it." 

Dan  plunged  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  drew 
out  the  corn  which  he  had  shelled  and  parched  at 
the  last  halt.  As  he  exchanged  it  for  the  "  whole 
raw  ear,"  he  fell  to  wondering  vaguely  what  had 
become  of  Big  Abel  since  that  dim  point  in  eternity 
when  they  had  left  the  trenches  that  surrounded 
Petersburg.  Then  time  was  divided  into  periods 
of  nights  and  days,  now  night  and  day  alike 
were  made  up  in  breathless  marching,  in  throwing 
out  skirmishers  against  those  "  wasps  "  of  cavalry- 
men, and  in  trying  to  force  aching  teeth  to  grind 
parched  corn.  Panting  and  sick  with  hunger,  he 
struggled  on  like  a  driven  beast  that  sees  the  place 
ahead,  where  he  must  turn  and  grapple  for  the  end 
with  the  relentless  hunter  on  his  track. 

As  the  day  ended  the  moist  wind  gathered 
strength  and  sang  in  his  ears  as  he  crept  forward  — 


464  The  Battle-Ground 

now  sleeping,  now  waking,  for  a  time  filled  with 
warm  memories  of  his  college  life,  and  again  fight- 
ing over  the  last  hopeless  campaign  from  the  Wil- 
derness to  the  trenches  where  Petersburg  had  fallen. 
They  had  yielded  step  by  step,  but  the  great  hunter 
had  pressed  on,  and  now  the  thin  brigades  were 
gathering  for  the  last  stand  together. 

Overhead  he  heard  the  soughing  of  the  pines,  and 
around  him  the  steady  tramp  of  feet  too  tired  to 
lift  themselves  from  out  the  heavy  mud.  Straight 
above  in  the  muffled  sky  a  star  shone  dimly, 
and  for  a  time  he  watched  it  in  his  effort  to  keep 
awake.  Then  he  began  on  the  raw  corn  in  his 
pocket,  shelling  it  from  the  cob  as  he  walked  along ; 
but  when  the  taste  of  blood  rose  to  his  lips,  he  put 
the  ear  away  again,  and  stooped  to  rub  his  eyes  with 
a  handful  of  damp  earth.  Then,  at  last,  in  sheer 
desperation,  he  loosened  the  grip  upon  his  thoughts, 
and  stumbled  on,  between  waking  and  sleeping, 
into  the  darkness  that  lay  ahead. 

In  the  road  before  him  the  door  at  Chericoke 
opened  wide  as  on  the  old  Christmas  Eves,  and  he 
saw  the  Major  and  the  Governor  draining  their 
glasses  under  the  garlands  of  mistletoe  and  holly, 
while  Betty  and  Virginia,  in  dresses  of  white  tarle- 
ton,  stood  against  the  ruddy  glow  that  filled  the 
panelled  parlour.  The  cheerful  Christmas  smell 
was  in  the  air  —  the  smell  of  apple  toddy,  of  roasted 
turkey,  of  plum  pudding  in  a  blaze  of  alcohol.  As 
he  entered  after  his  long  ride  from  college,  Betty 
came  up  to  him  and  slipped  a  warm  white  hand  into 
his  cold  one,  while  he  met  the  hazel  beams  from  be- 
neath her  lashes. 


The  Last  Stand  465 

"  I  hope  you  have  brought  Jack  Morson,"  she 
said.  "  Virginia  is  waiting.  See  how  lovely  she 
looks  in  her  white  flounces,  with  the  string  of  coral 
sibout  her  neck." 

"  But  the  war,  Betty  ?  "  he  asked,  with  blinking 
eyes,  and  as  he  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  the  pearls 
upon  her  bosom,  he  saw  that  it  was  whole  again  — 
no  wound  was  there,  only  the  snowflakes  that  fell 
from  his  sleeve  upon  her  breast.  "  What  of  the  war, 
dear?    I  must  go  back  to  the  army." 

Betty  laughed  long  and  merrily. 

"  Why,  you're  dreaming,  Dan,"  she  said.  "  It  all 
comes  of  those  wicked  stories  of  the  Major's.  In  a 
moment  you  will  believe  that  this  is  really  1812,  and 
you've  gone  without  your  rations." 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  cried  aloud,  and  the  sound  of 
his  own  voice  woke  him,  as  he  slipped  and  went 
down  in  a  mudhole  upon  the  road.  The  Christmas 
smell  faded  from  his  nostrils ;  in  its  place  came  the 
smoke  from  Pinetop's  pipe  —  a  faithful  friend  until 
the  last.  Overhead  the  star  was  still  shining,  and 
to  the  front  he  heard  a  single  shot  from  the  hovering 
cavalry,  withdrawing  for  the  night. 

"  God  damn  this  mud !  "  called  a  man  behind  him. 
as  he  lurched  sideways  from  the  ranks.  Farther 
away  three  hoarse  voices,  the  remnant  of  a  once 
famous  glee  club,  were  singing  in  the  endeavour  to 
scare  off  sleep :  — 

"  Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again !  " 

And  suddenly  he  was  fighting  in  the  tangles  of 
the  Wilderness,  crouching  behind  a  charred  oak 
stump,  while  he  loaded  and  fired  at  the  little  puffs  of 


466  The  Battle-Ground 

smoke  that  rose  from  the  undergrowth  beyond.  He 
saw  the  low  marshland,  the  stunted  oaks  and  pines, 
and  the  heavy  creepers  that  were  pushed  aside  and 
trampled  underfoot,  and  at  his  feet  he  saw  a  com- 
pany officer  with  a  bullet  hole  through  his  forehead 
and  a  covering  of  pine  needles  upon  his  face.  About 
him  the  small  twigs  fell,  as  if  a  storm  swept  the  for- 
est, and  as  he  dodged,  like  a  sharpshooter  from 
tree  to  tree,  he  saw  a  rush  of  flame  and  smoke  in 
the  distance  where  the  woods  were  burning.  Above 
the  noise  of  the  battle,  he  heard  the  shrieks  of  the 
wounded  men  in  the  track  of  the  fire;  and  once  he 
met  a  Union  and  a  Confederate  soldier,  each  shot 
through  the  leg,  drawing  each  other  back  from  the 
approaching  flames.  Then,  as  he  passed  on,  tear- 
ing at  the  cartridges  with  his  teeth,  he  came  upon  a 
sergeant  in  Union  clothes,  sitting  against  a  pine 
stump  with  his  cocked  rifle  in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes 
on  the  wind-blown  smoke.  A  moment  before  the 
man  may  have  gone  down  at  his  shot,  he  knew  — 
and  yet,  as  he  looked,  an  instinct  stronger  than  the 
instinct  to  kill  was  alive  within  him,  and  he  rushed 
on,  dragging  his  enemy  with  him  from  the  terrible 
woods.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  much  hurt,"  he  said, 
as  he  placed  him  on  the  ground  and  ran  back  to 
where  the  line  was  charging.  "  One  life  has  been 
paid  for,"  he  thought,  as  he  rushed  on  to  kill  —  and 
fell  face  downward  on  the  wheel-ruts  of  the  old 
road. 

"  Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again," 

sang  the  three  hoarse  voices,  straining  against  the 
wind. 


The  Last  Stand  467 

Dan  struggled  to  his  feet,  and  the  scene  shifted. 

He  was  back  in  his  childhood,  and  the  Major  had 
just  brought  in  a  slave  he  had  purchased  from 
Rainy-day  Jones  —  "  the  plague  spot  in  the  county," 
as  the  angry  old  gentleman  declared. 

Dan  sat  on  the  pile  of  kindling  wood  upon  the 
kitchen  hearth  and  stared  at  the  poor  black  creature 
shivering  in  the  warmth,  his  face  distorted  with  the 
toothache,  and  a  dirty  rag  about  his  jaw.  He 
heard  Aunt  Rhody  snorting  indignantly  as  she 
basted  the  turkeys,  and  he  watched  his  grandmother 
bustling  back  and  forth  with  whiskey  and  hot  plas- 
ters. 

"  Who  made  slavery,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  boy  sud- 
denly, his  hands  in  his  breeches  pockets  and  his 
head  bent  sideways. 

The  Major  started. 

"  God,  sir,"  he  promptly  replied. 

"  Then  I  think  it  very  strange  of  God,"  said  the 
boy,  "  and  when  I  grow  up,  I  shall  set  them  all  free, 
grandpa  —  I  shall  set  them  free  even  if  I  have  to 
fight  to  do  it,  sir." 

"  What !  like  poor  free  Levi  ? "  stormed  the 
Major. 

"  Wake  up,  confound  you !  "  bawled  somebody  in 
his  ear.  "  You've  lurched  against  my  side  until  my 
ribs  are  sore.  I  say,  are  you  going  on  forever,  any- 
how?   We've  halted  for  the  night." 

"  I  can't  stop !  "  cried  Dan,  groping  in  the  dark- 
ness, then  he  fell  heavily  upon  the  damp  ground, 
while  a  voice  down  the  road  began  shouting,  "  De- 
tail for  guard !  "  Half  asleep  and  cursing,  the  men 
responded  to  their  names  and  hurried  off,  and  as  the 


468  The  Battle-Ground 

silence  closed  in,  the  army  slept  like  a  child  upon 
the  roadside. 

With  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  they  were  on 
the  march  again,  passing  all  day  through  the  deso- 
late flat  country,  where  the  women  ran  weeping  to 
the  doorways,  and  waved  empty  hands  as  they  went 
by.  Once  a  girl  in  a  homespun  dress,  with  a  spray 
of  apple  blossoms  in  her  black  hair,  brought  out  a 
wooden  bucket  filled  with  buttermilk  and  passed  it 
along  the  line. 

"  Fight  to  the  end,  boys,"  she  cried  defiantly,  "  and 
when  the  end  comes,  keep  on  fighting.  If  you  go 
back  on  Lee  there's  not  a  woman  in  Virginia  will 
touch  your  hand." 

"  That's  right,  little  gal !  "  shrieked  a  husky  pri- 
vate. "  Three  cheers  for  Marse  Robert !  an'  we'll 
whip  the  earth  in  our  bar'  feet  befo'  breakfast." 

"  All  the  same  I  wish  old  Stonewall  was  along," 
muttered  Pinetop.  "  If  I  could  jest  see  old  Stone- 
wall or  his  ghost  ahead,  I'd  know  thar  was  an  open 
road  somewhere  that  Sheridan  ain't  got  his  eye 
on." 

As  the  sun  rose  high,  refugees  from  Richmond 
flocked  after  them  to  shout  that  the  town  had  been 
fired  by  the  citizens,  who  had  moved,  with  their 
families,  to  the  Capitol  Square  as  the  flames  spread 
from  the  great  tobacco  warehouses.  Men  who  had 
wives  and  children  in  the  city  groaned  as  they 
marched  farther  from  the  ashes  of  their  homes,  and 
more  than  one  staggered  back  into  the  ranks  and 
went  onward  under  a  heavier  burden. 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  things  are  fur  the  best  —  of 
they  ain't,"  remarked  Pinetop,  in  a  cheerful  tone. 


The  Last  Stand  469 

"  Thar's  no  goin'  agin  that,  you  -  bet.  What's  the 
row  back  thar,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  hovering  enemy,  grown  bolder,  had  fallen 
upon  the  flank,  and  the  stragglers  and  the  rear 
guard  were  beating  off  the  cavalry,  when  a  regiment 
was  sent  back  to  relieve  the  pressure.  Returning, 
Pinetop,  who  was  of  the  attacking  party,  fell  gravely 
to  moralizing  upon  the  scarcity  of  food. 

"  I've  tasted  every  plagued  thing  that  grows  in 
this  country  except  dirt,"  he  observed,  "  an'  I'm 
goin'  to  kneel  down  presently  and  take  a  good  square 
mouthful  of  that." 

"  That's  one  thing  we  shan't  run  short  of,"  re- 
plied Dan,  stepping  round  a  mud  hole.  "  By  George, 
we've  got  to  march  in  a  square  again  across  this 
open.  I  believe  when  I  set  out  for  heaven,  I'll  find 
some  of  those  confounded  Yankee  troopers  watch- 
ing the  road." 

Forming  in  battle  line  they  advanced  cautiously 
across  the  clearing,  while  the  skirmishing  grew 
brisker  at  the  front.  That  night  they  halted  but 
once  upon  the  way,  standing  to  meet  attack  against 
a  strip  of  pines,  watching  with  drawn  breath  while 
the  enemy  crept  closer.  They  heard  him  in  the 
woods,  felt  him  in  the  air,  saw  him  in  the  darkness 
—  like  a  gigantic  coil  he  approached  inch  by  inch 
for  the  last  struggle.  Now  and  then  a  shot  rang 
out,  and  the  little  band  thrilled  to  a  soldier,  and 
waited  breathlessly  for  the  last  charge  that  might 
end  it  all. 

"  There's  only  one  thing  worse  than  starvation, 
and  it's  defeat !  "  cried  Dan  aloud ;  then  the  column 
swung  on  and  the  cry  of  "  Close  up,  there !   close 


470  The  Battle- Ground 

up !  "  mingled  in  his  ears  with  the  steady  tramp 
upon  the  road. 

In  the  early  morning"  the  shots  grew  faster,  and 
as  the  column  stopped  in  the  cover  of  a  wood,  the 
bullets  came  singing  among  the  tree-tops,  from  the 
left  flank  where  the  skirmishers  had  struck  the 
enemy.  During  the  short  rest  Dan  slept  leaning 
against  a  twisted  aspen,  and  when  Pinetop  shook 
him,  he  awoke  with  a  dizziness  in  his  head  that  sent 
the  flat  earth  slamming  against  the  sky. 

"  I  believe  I'm  starving,  Pinetop,"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  rang  like  a  bell  in  his  ears.  "  I  can't 
see  where  to  put  my  feet,  the  ground  slips  about 
so. 

For  answer  Pinetop  felt  in  his  pocket  and  brought 
out  a  slice  of  fat  bacon,  which  he  gave  to  him  un- 
cooked. 

"Wait  till  I  git  a  light,"  he  commanded.  "'A 
woman  up  the  road  gave  me  a  hunk,  and  Fve  had 
my  share." 

"  You've  had  your  share,"  repeated  Dan,  greedily, 
his  eyes  on  the  meat,  though  he  knew  that  Pinetop 
was  lying. 

The  mountaineer  struck  a  match  and  lighted  a  bit 
of  pine,  holding  the  bacon  to  the  flame  until  it 
scorched. 

"  You'd  better  git  it  all  in  yo'  mouth  quick,"  he 
advised,  "  for  if  the  smell  once  starts  on  the  breeze 
the  whole  brigade  will  be  on  the  scent  in  a  min- 
ute." 

Dan  ate  it  to  the  last  morsel  and  licked  the  warm 
juice  from  his  fingers. 

"  You  lied,  Pinetop,"  he  said,  "  but,  by  God,  you 


The  Last  Stand  471 

saved  my  life.  What  place  is  this,  I  wonder.  Isn't 
there  any  hope  of  our  cutting  through  Grant's  lines 
to-day?" 

Pinetop  glanced  about  him. 

"  Somebody  said  we  were  comin'  on  to  Sailor's 
Creek,"  he  answered,  "  and  it's  about  as  God-for- 
saken country  as  I  care  to  see.  Hello !  what's 
that?" 

In  the  road  there  was  an  abandoned  battery,  cut 
down  and  left  to  rot  into  the  earth,  and  as  they 
swept  past  it  at  "  double  quick,"  they  heard  the 
sound  of  rapid  firing  across  the  little  stream. 

"  It's  a  fight,  thank  God !  "  yelled  Pinetop,  and  at 
the  words  a  tumultuous  joy  urged  Dan  through 
the  water  and  over  the  sharp  stones.  After  all  the 
hunger  and  the  intolerable  waiting,  a  chance  was 
come  for  him  to  use  his  musket  once  again. 

As  they  passed  through  an  open  meadow,  a  rabbit, 
starting  suddenly  from  a  clump  of  sumach,  went 
bounding  through  the  long  grass  before  the  thin 
gray  line.  With  ears  erect  and  short  white  tail 
bobbing  among  the  broom-sedge,  the  little  quivering 
creature  darted  straight  toward  the  low  brow  of  a 
hill,  where  a  squadron  of  cavalry  made  a  blue  patch 
on  the  green. 

"  Geriminy !  thar  goes  a  good  dinner,"  Pinetop 
gasped,  smacking  his  lips.  "  An'  I've  got  to  save 
this  here  load  for  a  Yankee  I  can't  eat." 

With  a  long  flying  leap  the  rabbit  led  the  charge 
straight  into  the  enemy's  ranks,  and  as  the  squirrel 
rifles  rang  out  behind  it,  a  blue  horseman  was  swept 
from  every  saddle  upon  the  hill. 

"  By  God,  I'm  glad  I   didn't  eat  that  rabbit ! " 


472  The  Battle-Ground 

yelled  Pinetop,  as  he  reloaded  and  raised  his  musket 
to  his  shoulder. 

Back  and  forth  before  the  line,  the  general  of  the 
brigade  was  riding  bareheaded  and  frantic  with 
delight.  As  he  passed  he  made  sweeping  gestures 
with  his  left  hand,  and  his  long  gray  hair  floated 
like  a  banner  upon  the  wind. 

"  They're  coming,  men !  "  he  cried.  "  Get  be- 
hind that  fence  and  have  your  muskets  ready  to 
pick  your  man.  When  you  see  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  fire,  and  give  the  bayonet.  They're  coming! 
Here  they  are !  " 

The  old  "  worm  "  fence  went  down,  and  as  Dan 
piled  up  some  loose  rails  before  him,  a  creeping 
brier  tore  his  fingers  until  the  blood  spurted  upon 
his  sleeve.  Then,  kneeling  on  the  ground,  he 
raised  his  musket  and  fired  at  one  of  the  skirmishers 
advancing  briskly  through  the  broom-sedge.  In  an 
instant  the  meadow  and  the  hill  beyond  were  blue 
with  swarming  infantry,  and  the  little  gray  band 
fell  back,  step  by  step,  loading  and  firing  as  it  went 
across  the  field.  As  the  road  behind  it  closed,  Dan 
turned  to  battle  on  his  own  account,  and  entering  a 
thinned  growth  of  pines,  he  dodged  from  tree  to 
tree  and  aimed  above  the  brushwood.  Near  him 
the  colour  bearer  of  the  regiment  was  fighting  with 
his  flagstaff  for  a  weapon,  and  out  in  the  meadow  a 
member  of  the  glee  club,  crouching  behind  a  clump 
of  sassafras  as  he  loaded,  was  singing  in  a  cracked 
voice :  — 

"  Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again !" 

Then  a  bullet  went  with  a  soft  thud  into  the  singer's 


The  Last  Stand  473 

breast,  and  the  cracked  voice  was  choked  out  be- 
neath the  bushes. 

Gripped  by  a  sudden  pity  for  the  helpless  flag  he 
had  loved  and  followed  for  four  years,  Dan  made 
an  impetuous  dash  from  out  the  pines,  and  tearing 
the  colours  from  the  pole,  tossed  them  over  his  arm 
as  he  retreated  rapidly  to  cover.  At  the  instant  he 
held  his  life  as  nothing  beside  the  faded  strip  of  silk 
that  wrapped  about  his  body.  The  cause  for  which 
he  had  fought,  the  great  captain  he  had  followed, 
the  devotion  to  a  single  end  which  had  kept  him 
struggling  in  the  ranks,  the  daily  sacrifice,  the  very 
poverty  and  cold  and  hunger,  all  these  were  bound 
up  and  made  one  with  the  tattered  flag  upon  his 
arm.  Through  the  belt  of  pines,  down  the  muddy 
road,  across  the  creek  and  up  the  long  hill,  he  fell 
back  breathlessly,  loading  and  firing  as  he  went,  with 
his  face  turned  toward  the  enemy.  At  the  end  he 
became  like  a  fox  before  the  hunters,  dashing  madly 
over  the  rough  ground,  with  the  colours  blown  out 
behind  him,  and  the  quick  shots  ringing  in  his  ears. 

Then,  as  if  by  a  single  stroke,  Lee's  army  van- 
ished from  the  trampled  broom-sedge  and  the  strip 
of  pines.  The  blue  brigades  closed  upon  the  land- 
scape and  when  they  opened  there  were  only  a  group 
of  sullen  prisoners  and  the  sound  of  stray  shots 
from  the  scattered  soldiers  who  had  fought  their 
way  beyond  the  stream. 


IX 


IN   THE    HOUR    OF   DEFEAT 


As  the  dusk  fell  Dan  found  himself  on  the  road 
with  a  little  company  of  stragglers,  flying  from  the 
pursuing  cavalry  that  drew  off  slowly  as  the  dark- 
ness gathered.  He  had  lost  his  regiment,  and,  as 
he  went  on,  he  began  calling  out  familiar  names, 
listening  with  strained  ears  for  an  answer  that 
would  tell  of  a  friend's  escape.  At  last  he  caught 
the  outlines  of  a  gigantic  figure  relieved  on  a  hillock 
against  the  pale  green  west,  and,  with  a  shout,  he 
hurried  through  the  swarm  of  fugitives,  and  over- 
took Pinetop,  who  had  stooped  to  tie  his  shoe  on 
with  a  leather  strap. 

"  Thank  God,  old  man !  "  he  cried.  "  Where  are 
the  others?" 

Pinetop,  panting  yet  imperturbable,  held  out  a 
steady  hand. 

"  The  Lord  knows,"  he  replied.  "  Some  of  'em 
air  here  an'  some  ain't.  I  was  goin'  back  agin  to 
git  the  flag,  when  I  saw  you  chased  like  a  fox 
across  the  creek  with  it  hangin'  on  yo'  back.  Then 
I  kinder  thought  it  wouldn't  do  for  none  of  the 
regiment  to  answer  when  Marse  Robert  called,  so 
I  came  along  right  fast  and  kep'  hopin'  you  would 
follow." 

"  Here  I  am,"  responded  Dan,  "  and  here  are  the 
474 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  475 

colours."  He  twined  the  silk  more  closely  about 
his  arm,  gloating  over  his  treasure  in  the  twilight. 

Pinetop  stretched  out  his  great  rough  hand  and 
touched  the  flag  as  gently  as  if  it  were  a  woman. 

"  I've  fought  under  this  here  thing  goin'  on 
four  years  now,"  he  said,  "  and  I  reckon  when  they 
take  it  prisoner,  they  take  me  along  with  it." 

"  And  me,"  added  Dan ;  "  poor  Granger  went 
down,  you  know,  just  as  I  took  it  from  him.  He 
fell  fighting  with  the  pole." 

"  Wall,  it's  a  better  way  than  most,"  Pinetop  re- 
plied, "  an'  when  the  angel  begins  to  foot  up  my 
account  on  Jedgment  Day,  I  shouldn't  mind  his 
cappin'  the  whole  list  with  '  he  lost  his  life,  but  he 
didn't  lose  his  flag.'  To  make  a  blamed  good  fight 
is  what  the  Lord  wants  of  us,  I  reckon,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  made  our  hands  itch  so  when  they 
touch  a  musket." 

Then  they  trudged  on  silently,  weak  from  hun- 
ger, sickened  by  defeat.  When,  at  last,  the  dis- 
organized column  halted,  and  the  men  fell  to  the 
ground  upon  their  rifles,  Dan  kindled  a  fire  and 
parched  his  corn  above  the  coals.  After  it  was 
eaten  they  lay  down  side  by  side  and  slept  peace- 
fully on  the  edge  of  an  old  field. 

For  three  days  they  marched  steadily  onward, 
securing  meagre  rations  in  a  little  town  where  they 
rested  for  a  while,  and  pausing  from  time  to  time, 
to  beat  off  a  feigned  attack.  Pinetop,  cheerful, 
strong,  undaunted  by  any  hardship,  set  his  face 
unflinchingly  toward  the  battle  that  must  clear  a 
road  for  them  through  Grant's  lines.  Had  he  met 
alone  a  squadron  of  cavalry  in  the  field,  he  would, 


476  The  Battle-Ground 

probably,  have  taken  his  stand  against  a  pine,  and 
aimed  his  musket  as  coolly  as  if  a  squirrel  were  the 
mark.  With  his  sunny  temper,  and  his  gloomy 
gospel  of  predestination,  his  heart  could  swell  with 
hope  even  while  he  fought  single-handed  in  the 
face  of  big  battalions.  What  concerned  him,  after 
all,  was  not  so  much  the  chance  of  an  ultimate 
victory  for  the  cause,  as  the  determination  in  his 
own  mind  to  fight  it  out  as  long  as  he  had  a  car- 
tridge remaining  in  his  box.  As  his  fathers  had 
kept  the  frontier,  so  he  meant,  on  his  own  account, 
to  keep  Virginia. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  as  the  little 
company  drew  near  to  Appomattox  Court  House, 
it  found  the  road  blocked  with  abandoned  guns, 
and  lined  by  exhausted  stragglers,  who  had  gone 
down  at  the  last  halting  place.  As  it  filed  into  an 
open  field  beyond  a  wooded  level,  where  a  few 
campfires  glimmered,  a  group  of  Federal  horse- 
men clattered  across  the  front,  and,  as  if  by  in- 
stinct, the  column  formed  into  battle  line,  and 
the  hand  of  every  man  was  on  the  trigger  of 
his  musket. 

"  Don't  fire,  you  fools !  "  called  an  officer  behind 
them,  in  a  voice  sharp  with  irritation.  "  The  army 
has  surrendered !  " 

"  What !  Grant  surrendered  ?  "  thundered  the 
line,  with  muskets  at  a  trail  as  it  rushed  into  the 
open. 

"  No,  you  blasted  fools  —  we've  surrendered," 
shouted  the  voice,  rising  hoarsely  in  a  gasping  in- 
dignation. 

"  Surrendered,  the  deuce !  "  scoffed  the  men,  as 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  477 

they  fell  back  into  ranks.  "  I'd  like  to  know  what 
General   Lee   will   think   of   your   surrender  ? " 

A  little  Colonel,  with  his  hand  at  his  sword  hilt, 
strutted  up  and  down  before  a  tangle  of  dead 
thistles. 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  thinks  of  it,  he  did  it,"  he 
shrieked,  without  pausing  in  his  walk. 

"  It's  a  damn  lie ! "  cried  Dan,  in  a  white  heat. 
Then  he  threw  his  musket  on  the  ground,  and  fell 
to  sobbing  the  dry  tearless  sobs  of  a  man  who  feels 
his  heart  crushed  by  a  sudden  blow. 

There  were  tears  on  all  the  faces  round  him,  and 
Pinetop  was  digging  his  great  fists  into  his  eyes,  as 
a  child  does  who  has  been  punished  before  his  play- 
mates. Beside  him  a  man  with  an  untrimmed 
shaggy  beard  hid  his  distorted  features  in  shaking 
hands. 

"  I  ain't  blubberin'  fur  myself,"  he  said  defiantly, 
"  but  —  O  Lord,  boys  —  I'm  cryin'  fur  Marse 
Robert." 

Over  the  field  the  beaten  soldiers,  in  ragged  gray 
uniforms,  were  lying  beneath  little  bushes  of  sassa- 
fras and  sumach,  and  to  the  right  a  few  campfires 
were  burning  in  a  shady  thicket.  The  struggle  was 
over,  and  each  man  had  fallen  where  he  stood, 
hopeless  for  the  first  time  in  four  long  years.  Up 
and  down  the  road  groups  of  Federal  horsemen 
trotted  with  cheerful  unconcern,  and  now  and  then 
a  private  paused  to  make  a  remark  in  friendly  tones  ; 
but  the  men  beneath  the  bushes  only  stared  with 
hollow  eyes  in  answer  —  the  blank  stare  of  the  de- 
feated who  have  put  their  whole  strength  into  the 
fight. 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 21 


47 8  The  Battle-Ground 

Taking  out  his  jack-knife,  Dan  unfastened  the 
flag  from  the  hickory  pole  on  which  he  had  placed 
it,  and  began  cutting  it  into  little  pieces,  which  he 
passed  to  each  man  who  had  fought  beneath  its 
folds.  The  last  bit  he  put  into  his  own  pocket,  and 
trembling  like  one  gone  suddenly  palsied,  passed 
from  the  midst  of  his  silent  comrades  to  a  pine 
stump  on  the  border  of  the  woods.  Here  he  sat 
down  and  looked  hopelessly  upon  the  scene  before 
him  —  upon  the  littered  roads  and  the  great  blue 
lines  encircling  the  horizon. 

So  this  was  the  end,  he  told  himself,  with  a  bit- 
terness that  choked  him  like  a  grip  upon  the  throat, 
this  the  end  of  his  boyish  ardour,  his  dream  of 
fame  upon  the  battle-field,  his  four  years  of  daily 
sacrifice  and  suffering.  This  was  the  end  of  the 
flag  for  which  he  was  ready  to  give  his  life  three 
days  ago.  With  his  youth,  his  strength,  his  very 
bread  thrown  into  the  scale,  he  sat  now  with  wrecked 
body  and  blighted  mind,  and  saw  his  future  turn  to 
decay  before  his  manhood  was  well  begun.  Where 
was  the  old  buoyant  spirit  he  had  brought  with 
him  into  the  fight?  Gone  forever,  and  in  its  place 
he  found  his  maimed  and  trembling  hands,  and 
limbs  weakened  by  starvation  as  by  long  fever. 
His  virile  youth  was  wasted  in  the  slow  struggle, 
his  energy  was  sapped  drop  by  drop ;  and  at  the  last 
he  saw  himself  burned  out  like  the  battle-fields, 
where  the  armies  had  closed  and  opened,  leaving 
an  impoverished  and  ruined  soil.  He  had  given 
himself  for  four  years,  and  yet  when  the  end  came 
he  had  not  earned  so  much  as  an  empty  title  to  take 
home  for  his  reward.    The  consciousness  of  a  hard- 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  479 

fought  fight  was  but  the  common  portion  of  them 
all,  from  the  greatest  to  the  humblest  on  either 
side.  As  for  him  he  had  but  done  his  duty  like 
his  comrades  in  the  ranks,  and  by  what  right  of 
merit  should  he  have  raised  himself  above  their 
heads?  Yes,  this  was  the  end,  and  he  meant  to 
face  it  standing  with  his  back  against  the  wall. 

Down  the  road  a  line  of  Federal  privates  came 
driving  an  ox  before  them,  and  he  eyed  them 
gravely,  wondering  in  a  dazed  way  if  the  taste 
of  victory  had  gone  to  their  heads.  Then  he  turned 
slowly,  for  a  voice  was  speaking  at  his  side,  and 
a  tall  man  in  a  long  blue  coat  was  building  a  little 
fire  hard  by. 

"  Your  stomach's  pretty  empty,  ain't  it,  Johnny  ?  " 
he  inquired,  as  he  laid  the  sticks  crosswise  with  pre- 
cise movements,  as  if  he  had  measured  the  length 
of  each  separate  piece  of  wood.  He  was  lean  and 
rawboned,  with  a  shaggy  red  moustache  and  a 
wart  on  his  left  cheek.  When  he  spoke  he  showed 
an  even  row  of  strong  white  teeth. 

Dan  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  exhausted  in- 
dignation. 

"  Well,  it's  been  emptier,"  he  returned  shortly. 

The  man  in  blue  struck  a  match  and  held  it  care- 
fully to  a  dried  pine  branch,  watching,  with  a  serious 
face,  as  the  flame  licked  the  rosin  from  the  crossed 
sticks.  Then  he  placed  a  quart  pot  full  of  water 
on  the  coals,  and  turned  to  meet  Dan's  eyes,  which 
had  grown  ravenous  as  he  caught  the  scent  of 
beef. 

.  "  You  see  we  somehow  thought  you  Johnnies- 
would  be  hard  up,"  he  said  in  an  offhand  manner, 


480  The  Battle-Ground 

"  so  we  made  up  our  minds  we'd  ask  you  to  dinner 
and  cut  our  rations  square.  Some  of  us  are  driv- 
ing over  an  ox  from  camp,  but  as  I  was  hanging 
round  and  saw  you  all  by  yourself  on  this  old 
stump,  I  had  a  feeling  that  you  were  in  need  of  a 
cup  of  coffee.  You  haven't  tasted  real  coffee  for 
some  time,  I  guess." 

The  water  was  bubbling  over  and  he  measured 
out  the  coffee  and  poured  it  slowly  into  the  quart 
cup.  As  the  aroma  filled  the  air,  he  opened  his 
haversack  and  drew  out  a  generous  supply  of  raw 
beef  which  he  broiled  on  little  sticks,  and  laid  on 
a  spread  of  army  biscuits.  The  larger  share  he 
offered  to  Dan  with  the  steaming  pot  of  coffee. 

"  I  declare  it'll  do  me  downright  good  to  see 
you  eat,"  he  said,  with  a  hospitable  gesture. 

Dan  sat  down  beside  the  bread  and  beef,  and,  for 
the  next  ten  minutes,  ate  like  a  famished  wolf, 
while  the  man  in  blue  placidly  regarded  him.  When 
he  had  finished  he  took  out  a  little  bag  of  Virginian 
tobacco  and  they  smoked  together  beside  the  wan- 
ing fire.  A  natural  light  returned  gradually  to 
Dan's  eyes,  and  while  the  clouds  of  smoke  rose 
high  above  the  bushes,  they  talked  of  the  last 
great  battles  as  quietly  as  of  the  Punic  Wars.  It 
was  all  dead  now,  as  dead  as  history,  and  the  men 
who  fought  had  left  the  bitterness  to  the  camp  fol- 
lowers or  to  the  ones  who  stayed  at  home. 

"  You  have  fine  tobacco  down  this  way,"  observed 
the  Union  soldier,  as  he  refilled  his  pipe,  and 
lighted  it  with  an  ember.  Then  his  gaze  followed 
Dan's,  which  was  resting  on  the  long  blue  lines  that 
stretched  across  the  landscape. 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  481 

"  You're  feeling  right  bad  about  us  now,"  he  pur- 
sued, as  he  crossed  his  legs  and  leaned  back 
against  a  pine,  "  and  I  guess  it's  natural,  but  the 
time  will  come  when  you'll  know  that  we  weren't 
the  worst  you  had  to  face." 

Dan  held  out  his  hand  with  something  of  a 
smile. 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight  and  I  can  shake  hands,"  he 
responded. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  the  other  thought- 
fully. "  What  I  mean  is  just  this,  you  mark  my 
words  —  after  the  battle  comes  the  vultures.  After 
the  army  of  fighters  comes  the  army  of  those  who 
haven't  smelled  the  powder.  And  in  time  you'll 
learn  that  it  isn't  the  man  with  the  rifle  that  does 
the  most  of  the  mischief.  The  damned  coffee  boil- 
ers will  get  their  hands  in  now  —  I  know  'em." 

"  Well,  there's  nothing  left,  I  suppose,  but  to 
swallow  it  down  without  any  fuss,"  said  Dan 
wearily,  looking  over  the  field  where  the  slaughtered 
ox  was  roasting  on  a  hundred  bayonets  at  a  hun- 
dred fires. 

"  You're  right,  that's  the  only  thing,"  agreed 
the  man  in  blue;  then  his  keen  gray  eyes  were  on 
Dan's  face. 

"  Have  you  got  a  wife  ?  "  he  asked  bluntly. 

Dan  shook  his  head  as  he  stared  gravely  at  the 
embers. 

"  A  sweetheart,  I  guess  ?  I  never  met  a  Johnnie 
who  didn't  have  a  sweetheart." 

"  Yes,  I've  a  sweetheart  —  God  bless  Her !  " 

"  Well,  you  take  my  advice  and  go  home  and 
tell  her  to  cure  you,  now  she's  got  the  chance.    I 


482  The  Battle-Ground 

like  your  face,  young  man,  but  if  I  ever  saw  a  half- 
starved  and  sickly  one,  it  is  yours.  Why,  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  you  had  the  strength  to  raise  your 
rifle." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  take  much  strength  for  that ; 
and  besides  the  coffee  did  me  good,  I  was  only 
hungry." 

"  Hungry,  hump !  "  grunted  the  Union  soldier. 
"  It  takes  more  than  hunger  to  give  a  man  that  blue 
look  about  the  lips ;  it  takes  downright  starvation." 
He  dived  into  his  haversack  and  drew  out  a  quinine 
pill  and  a  little  bottle  of  whiskey. 

"  If  you'll  just  chuck  this  down  it  won't  do  you 
any  harm,"  he  went  on,  "  and  if  I  were  you,  I'd 
find  a  shelter  before  I  went  to  sleep  to-night;  you 
can't  trust  April  weather.  Get  into  that  cow  shed 
over  there  or  under  a  wagon." 

Dan  swallowed  the  quinine  and  the  whiskey,  and 
as  the  strong  spirit  fired  his  veins,  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  his  outlook  muffled  him  into  silence. 
Dropping  his  head  into  his  open  palms,  he  sat 
dully  staring  at  the  whitening  ashes. 

After  a  moment  the  man  in  blue  rose  to  his  feet 
and  fastened  his  haversack. 

"  I  live  up  by  Bethlehem,  New  Hampshire,"  he 
remarked,  "  and  if  you  ever  come  that  way,  I  hope 
you'll  look  me  up ;  my  name's  Moriarty." 

"  Your  name's  Moriarty,  I  shall  remember,"  re- 
peated Dan,  trying,  with  a  terrible  effort,  to  steady 
his  quivering  limbs. 

"  jim  Moriarty,  don't  you  forget  it.  Anybody  at 
Bethlehem  can  tell  you  about  me ;  I  keep  the  big- 
gest store  around  there."    He  went  off  a  few  steps 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  483 

and  then  came  back  to  hold  out  an  awkward  hand 
in  which  there  was  a  little  heap  of  silver. 

"  You'd  just  better  take  this  to  start  you  on  your 
way,"  he  said,  "  it  ain't  but  ninety-five  cents  —  I 
couldn't  make  out  the  dollar  —  and  when  you  get 
it  in  again  you  can  send  it  to  Jim  Moriarty  at  Beth- 
lehem, New  Hampshire.  Good-by,  and  good  luck 
to  you  this  time." 

He  strode  off  across  the  field,  and  Dan,  with  the 
silver  held  close  in  his  palm,  flung  himself  back 
upon  the  ground  and  slept  until  Pinetop  woke  him 
with  a  grasp  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Marse  Robert's  passin'  along  the  road,"  he 
said.    "  You'd  better  hurry." 

Struggling  to  his  feet  Dan  rushed  from  the  woods 
across  the  deserted  field,  to  the  lines  of  conquered 
soldiers  standing  in  battle  ranks  upon  the  road- 
side. Between  them  the  Commander  had  passed 
slowly  on  his  dapple  gray  horse,  and  when  Dan 
joined  the  ranks  it  was  only  in  time  to  see  him 
ride  onward  at  a  walk,  with  the  bearded  soldiers 
clinging  like  children  to  his  stirrups.  A  group  of 
Federal  cavalrymen,  drawn  up  beneath  a  persimmon 
tree,  uncovered  as  he  went  by,  and  he  returned  the 
salute  with  a  simple  gesture.  Lonely,  patient,  con- 
firmed in  courtesy,  he  passed  on  his  way,  and  his 
little  army  returned  to  camp  in  the  strip  of  pines. 

"  '  I've  done  my  best  for  you,'  that's  what  he 
said,"  sobbed  Pinetop.  "  '  I've  done  my  best  for 
you,'  —  and  I  kissed  old  Traveller's  mane." 

Without  replying,  Dan  went  back  into  the  woods 
and  flung  himself  down  on  the  spread  of  tags. 
Xow  that  the  fight  was  over  all  the  exhaustion  of 


484  The  Battle-Ground 

the  last  four  years,  the  weakness  after  many  battles, 
the  weariness  after  the  long  marches,  had  gathered 
with  accumulated  strength  for  the  final  overthrow. 

For  three  days  he  remained  in  camp  in  the  pine 
woods,  and  on  the  third,  after  waiting  six  hours  in 
a  hard  rain  outside  his  General's  tent,  he  secured 
the  little  printed  slip  which  signified  to  all  whom  it 
might  concern  that  he  had  become  a  prisoner  upon 
his  parole.  Then,  after  a  sympathetic  word  to  the 
rest  of  the  division,  shivering  beneath  the  sassafras 
bushes  before  the  tent,  he  shook  hands  with  his 
comrades  under  arms,  and  started  with  Pinetop 
down  the  muddy  road.  The  war  was  over,  and  foot- 
sore, in  rags  and  with  aching  limbs,  he  was  return- 
ing to  the  little  valley  where  he  had  hoped  to  trail 
his  glory. 

Down  the  long  road  the  gray  rain  fell  straight 
as  a  curtain,  and  on  either  side  tramped  the  lines 
of  beaten  soldiers  who  were  marching,  on  their 
word  of  honour,  to  their  distant  homes.  The  aban- 
doned guns  sunk  deep  in  the  mud,  the  shivering 
men  lying  in  rags  beneath  the  bushes,  and  the 
charred  remains  of  campfires  among  the  trees  were 
the  last  memories  Dan  carried  from  the  four  years' 
war. 

Some  miles  farther  on,  when  the  pickets  had 
been  passed,  a  man  on  a  black  horse  rode  suddenly 
from  a  little  thicket  and  stopped  across  their  path. 

"  You  fellows  haven't  been  such  darn  fools  as  to 
give  your  parole,  have  you?  "  he  asked  in  an  angry 
voice,  his  hand  on  his  horse's  neck.  "  The  fight  isn't 
over  yet  and  we  want  your  muskets  on  our  side. 
I   belong  to  the  partisan   rangers,   and  we'll   cut 


In   the  Hour  of  Defeat  485 

through  to  Johnston's  army  before  daylight.  If  not, 
we'll  take  to  the  mountains  and  keep  up  the  war 
forever.    The  country  is  ours,  what's  to  hinder  us  ?  " 

He  spoke  passionately,  and  at  each  sharp  excla- 
mation the  black  horse  rose  on  his  haunches  and 
pawed  the  air. 

Dan  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  out  on  parole,"  he  replied,  "  but  as  soon 
as  I'm  exchanged,  I'll  fight  if  Virginia  wants  me. 
How  about  you,  Pinetop  ?  " 

The  mountaineer  shuffled  his  feet  in  the  mud  and 
stood  solemnly  surveying  the  landscape. 

"  Wall,  I  don't  understand  much  about  this  here 
parole  business,"  he  replied.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
a  slip  of  paper  with  printed  words  on  it  that  I 
have  to  spell  out  as  I  go,  is  a  mighty  poor  way 
to  keep  a  man  from  fightin'  if  he  can  find  a  musket. 
I  ain't  steddyin'  about  this  parole,  but  Marse  Robert 
told  me  to  go  home  to  plant  my  crop,  and  I  am 
goin'  home  to  plant  it." 

"  It  is  all  over,  I  think,"  said  Dan  with  a  quiv- 
ering lip,  as  he  stared  at  the  ruined  meadows.  The 
smart  was  still  fresh,  and  it  was  too  soon  for  him  to 
add,  with  the  knowledge  that  would  come  to  him 
from  years,  —  "  it  is  better  so."  Despite  the  grim 
struggle  and  the  wasted  strength,  despite  the  im- 
poverished land  and  the  nameless  graves  that  filled 
it,  despite  even  his  own  wrecked  youth  and  the 
hard- fought  fields  where  he  had  laid  it  down  — 
despite  all  these  a  shadow  was  lifted  from  his  people 
and  it  was  worth  the  price. 

They  passed  on,  while  the  black  horse  pawed 
the  dust,  and  the  rider  hurled  oaths  at  their  retreat" 


486  The  Battle- Ground 

ing  figures.  At  a  little  house  a  few  yards  down 
the  road  they  stopped  to  ask  for  food,  and  found 
a  woman  weeping  at  the  kitchen  table,  with  three 
small  children  clinging  to  her  skirts.  Her  husband 
had  fallen  at  Five  Forks,  she  said,  the  safe  was 
empty,  and  the  children  were  crying  for  bread. 
Then  Dan  slipped  into  her  hand  the  silver  he  had 
borrowed  from  the  Union  soldier,  and  the  two  re- 
turned penniless  to  the  road. 

"  At  least  we  are  men,"  he  said  almost  apologet- 
ically to  Pinetop,  and  the  next  instant  turned 
squarely  in  the  mud,  for  a  voice  from  the  other 
side  had  called  out  shrilly  :  — 

"  Hi,  Marse  Dan,  whar  you  gwine  now  ?  " 

"  Bless  my  soul,   it's   Big  Abel,"  he  exclaimed. 

Black  as  a  spade  and  beaming  with  delight,  the 
negro  emerged  from  the  swarm  upon  the  roadside 
and  grasped  Dan's  outstretched  hands. 

"  Whar  you  gwine  dis  away,  Marse  Dan  ?  "  he  in- 
quired again. 

"  I'm  going  home,  Big  Abel,"  responded  Dan, 
as  they  walked  on  in  a  row  of  three.  "  No,  don't 
shout,  you  scamp ;  I'd  rather  lie  down  and  die  upon 
the  roadside  than  go  home  like  this." 

"  Well,  you  ain'  much  to  look  at,  dat's  sho',"  re- 
plied Big  Abel,  his  face  shining  like  polished  ebony, 
"  en  I  ain'  much  to  look  at  needer,  but  dey'll  have 
ter  recollect  de  way  we  all  wuz  befo'  we  runned 
away ;  dey'll  have  ter  recollect  you  in  yo'  fine  shuts 
en  fancy  waistcoats,  en  dey'll  have  ter  recollect  me 
in  yo'  ole  uns.  Sakes  alive!  I  kin  see  dat  one  er 
yourn  wid  de  little  bit  er  flow'rs  all  over  hit  des  es 
plain  es  ef  'twuz  yestiddy." 


In  the  Hour  of  Defeat  487 

"  The  waistcoats  are  all  gone  now,"  said  Dan 
gravely,  "  and  so  are  the  shirts.  The  war  is  over 
and  you  are  your  own  master,  Big  Abel.  You 
don't  belong  to  me  from  this  time  on." 

Big  Abel  shook  his  head  grinning. 

"  I  reckon  hit's  all  de,  same,"  he  remarked  cheer- 
fully, "  en  I  reckon  we'd  es  well  be  gwine  on  home, 
Marse  Dan." 

"  I  reckon  we  would,"  said  Dan  and  they  pushed 
on  in  silence. 


X 


ON   THE    MARCH    AGAIN 


That  night  they  slept  on  the  blood-stained  floor 
of  an  old  field  hospital,  and  the  next  morning  Pine- 
top  parted  from  them  and  joined  an  engineer  who 
had  promised  him  a  "  lift "  toward  his  mountains. 

As  Dan  stood  in  the  sunny  road  holding  his 
friend's  rough  hand,  it  seemed  to  him  that  such  a 
parting  was  the  sharpest  wrench  the  end  had 
brought. 

"  Whenever  you  need  me,  old  fellow,  remem- 
ber that  I  am  always  ready,"  he  said  in  a  husky 
voice. 

Pinetop  looked  past  him  to  the  distant  woods, 
and  his  calm  blue  eyes  were  dim. 

"  I  reckon  you'll  go  yo'  way  an'  I'll  go  mine," 
he  replied,  "  for  thar's  one  thing  sartain  an'  that  is 
our  ways  don't  run  together.  It'll  never  be  the 
4(;  same  agin  —  that's  natur  —  but  if  you  ever  want  a 
good  stout  hand  for  any  uphill  ploughing  or  shoot 
yo'  man  an'  the  police  git  on  yo'  track,  jest  remember 
that  I'm  up  thar  in  my  little  cabin.  Why,  if  every 
officer  in  the  county  was  at  yo'  heels,  I'd  stand  guard 
with  my  old  squirrel  gun  and  maw  would  with  her 
kettle." 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  Big  Abel  and  strode 
on  across  a  field  to  a  little  railway  station,  while 


On  the  March   Again  489 

Dan  went  slowly  down  the  road  with  the  negro  at 
his  side. 

In  the  afternoon  when  they  had  trudged  all  the 
morning  through  the  heavy  mud,  they  reached  a 
small  frame  house  set  back  from  the  road,  with 
some  straggling  ailanthus  shoots  at  the  front  and  a 
pile  of  newly  cut  hickory  logs  near  the  kitchen 
steps.  A  woman,  with  a  bucket  of  soapsuds  at  her 
feet,  was  wringing  out  a  homespun  shirt  in  the  yard, 
and  as  they  entered  the  little  gate,  she  looked  at 
them  with  a  defiance  which  was  evidently  the  re- 
sult of  a  late  domestic  wrangle. 

"  I've  got  one  man  on  my  hands,"  she  began  in 
a  shrill  voice,  "  an'  he's  as  much  as  I  can  'tend  to, 
an'  a  long  sight  mo'  than  I  care  to  'tend  to.  He 
never  had  the  spunk  to  fight  anythin'  except  his 
wife,  but  I  reckon  he's  better  off  now  than  them 
that  had ;  it's  the  coward  that  gets  the  best  of  things 
in  these  days." 

"  Shut  up  thar,  you  hussy !  "  growled  a  voice 
from  the  kitchen,  and  a  fat  man  with  bleared  eyes 
slouched  to  the  doorway.  "  I  reckon  if  you  want  a 
supper  you  can  work  for  it,"  he  remarked,  taking 
a  wad  of  tobacco  from  his  mouth  and  aiming  it 
deliberately  at  one  of  the  ailanthus  shoots.  "  You 
split  up  that  thar  pile  of  logs  back  thar  an'  Sally'll 
cook  yo'  supper.  Thar  ain't  another  house  inside 
of  a  good  ten  miles,  so  you'd  better  take  your 
chance,  I  reckon." 

"  That's  jest  like  you,  Tom  Bates,"  retorted  the 
woman  passionately.  "  Befo'  you'd  do  a  lick  of 
honest  work  you'd  let  the  roof  topple  plum  down 
upon  our  heads." 


490  The  Battle-Ground 

For  an  instant  Dan's  glance  cut  the  man  like  a 
whip,  then  crossing  to  the  woodpile,  he  lifted  the 
axe  and  sent  it  with  a  clean  stroke  into  a  hickory 
log. 

"  We  can't  starve,  Big  Abel,"  he  said  coolly,  "  but 
we  are  not  beggars  yet  by  a  long  way." 

"  Go  'way,  Marse  Dan,"  protested  the  negro  in 
disgust.  "  Gimme  dat  ar  axe  en  set  right  down 
and  wait  twel  supper.  You're  des  es  white  es  a 
sheet  dis  minute." 

"  I've  got  to  begin  some  day,"  returned  Dan,  as 
the  axe  swung  back  across  his  shoulder.  "  I'll  pay 
for  my  supper  and  you'll  pay  for  yours,  that's  fair, 
isn't  it  ?  —  for  you're  a  free  man  now." 

Then  he  went  feverishly  to  work,  while  Big  Abel 
sat  grumbling  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  farmer,  lean- 
ing against  the  lintel  behind  him,  watched  the 
lessening  pile  with  sluggish  eyes. 

"  You  be  real  careful  of  this  wood,  Sally,  an' 
it  ought  to  last  twel  summer,"  he  observed,  as  he 
glanced  to  where  his  wife  stood  wringing  out  the 
clothes.  "  If  you  warn't  so  wasteful  that  last  pile 
would  ha'  held  out  twice  as  long." 

Dan  chopped  steadily  for  an  hour,  and  then  giv- 
ing the  axe  to  Big  Abel,  went  into  the  little  kitchen 
to  eat  his  supper.  The  woman  served  him  sullenly, 
placing  some  sobby  biscuits  and  a  piece  of  cold 
bacon  on  his  plate,  and  pouring  out  a  glass  of 
buttermilk  with  a  vicious  thrust  of  the  pitcher. 
When  he  asked  if  there  was  a  shelter  close  at  hand 
where  he  might  sleep,  she  replied  sourly  that  she 
reckoned  the  barn  was  good  enough  if  he  chose  to 
spend  the  night  there.     Then  as  Big  Abel  finished 


On   the   March   Again  491 

his  job  and  took  his  supper  in  his  hand,  they  left 
the  house  and  went  across  the  darkening  cattle 
pen,  to  a  rotting  structure  which  they  took  to  be 
the  barn.  Inside  the  straw  was  warm  and  dry, 
and  as  Dan  flung  himself  down  upon  it,  he  gasped 
out  something  like  a  prayer  of  thanks.  His  first 
day's  labour  with  his  hands  had  left  him  trembling 
like  a  nervous  woman.  An  hour  longer,  he  told 
himself,  and  he  should  have  gone  down  upon  the 
roadside. 

For  a  time  he  slept  profoundly,  and  then  awaking 
in  the  night,  he  lay  until  dawn  listening  to  Big 
Abel's  snores,  and  staring  straight  above  where  a 
solitary  star  shone  through  a  crack  in  the  shingled 
roof.  From  the  other  side  of  a  thin  partition  came 
the  soft  breathing  and  the  fresh  smell  of  cows, 
and,  now  and  then,  he  heard  the  low  bleating  of  a 
new-born  calf. 

He  had  been  dreaming  of  a  battle,  and  the  impres- 
sion was  so  vivid  that,  as  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  half 
imagined  he  still  heard  the  sound  of  shots.  In  his 
sleep  he  had  saved  the  flag  and  won  promotion 
after  victory,  and  for  a  moment  the  trampled 
straw  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  battle-field,  and  the 
thin  boards  against  which  he  beat  the  enemy's  re- 
sisting line.  As  he  came  slowly  to  himself  a  sud- 
den yearning  for  the  army  awoke  within  him.  He 
wanted  the  red  campfires  and  his  comrades  smok- 
ing against  the  dim  pines ;  the  peaceful  bivouac 
where  the  long  shadows  crept  among  the  trees  and 
two  men  lay  wrapped  together  beneath  every 
blanket;  above  all,  he  wanted  to  see  the  Southern 
Cross  wave  in  the  sunlight,  and  to  hear  the  charg- 


492  The  Battle- Ground 

ing  yell  as  the  brigade  dashed  into  the  open.  He 
was  homesick  for  it  all  to-night,  and  yet  it  was  dead 
forever  —  dead  as  his  own  youth  which  he  had 
given  to  the  cause. 

Sharp  pains  racked  him  from  head  to  foot,  and 
his  pulses  burned  as  if  from  fever.  It  was  like 
the  weariness  of  old  age,  he  thought,  this  utter 
hopelessness,  these  strained  and  quivering  muscles. 
As  a  boy  he  had  been  hardy  as  an  Indian  and 
as  fearless  of  fatigue.  Now  the  long  midnight 
gallops  on  Prince  Rupert  over  frozen  roads  re- 
turned to  him  like  the  dim  memories  from  some 
old  romance.  They  belonged  to  the  place  of  half- 
forgotten  stories,  with  the  gay  waistcoats  and  the 
Christmas  gatherings  in  the  hall  at  Chericoke. 
For  a  country  that  was  not  he  had  given  himself  as 
surely  as  the  men  who  were  buried  where  they 
fought,  and  his  future  would  be  but  one  long 
struggle  to  adjust  himself  to  conditions  in  which 
he  had  no  part.  His  proper  nature  was  compacted 
of  the  old  life  which  was  gone  forever  —  of  its  ease, 
of  its  gayety,  of  its  lavish  pleasures.  For  the 
sake  of  this  life  he  had  fought  for  four  years  in 
the  ranks,  and  now  that  it  was  swept  away,  he 
found  himself  like  a  man  who  stumbles  on  over 
the  graves  of  his  familiar  friends.  He  remem- 
bered the  words  of  the  soldier  in  the  long  blue  coat, 
and  spoke  them  half  aloud  in  the  darkness: 
"  There'll  come  a  time  when  you'll  find  out  that 
the  army  wasn't  the  worst  you  had  to  face."  The 
army  was  not  the  worst,  he  knew  this  now  —  the 
grapple  with  a  courageous  foe  had  served  to 
quicken  his  pulses  and  nerve  his  hand  —  the  worst 


On  the  March  Again  493 

was  what  came  afterward,  this  sense  of  utter  failure 
and  the  attempt  to  shape  one's  self  to  brutal  neces- 
sity. In  the  future  that  opened  before  him  he 
saw  only  a  terrible  patience  which  would  perhaps 
grow  into  a  second  nature  as  the  years  went  on. 
In  place  of  the  old  generous  existence,  he  must 
from  this  day  forth  wring  the  daily  bread  of  those 
he  loved,  with  maimed  hands,  from  a  wasted  soil. 

The  thought  of  Betty  came  to  him,  but  it  brought 
no  consolation.  For  himself  he  could  meet  the 
shipwreck  standing,  but  Betty  must  be  saved  from 
it  if  there  was  salvation  to  be  found.  She  had 
loved  him  in  the  days  of  his  youth  —  in  his  strong 
days,  as  the  Governor  said  —  now  that  he  was 
worn  out,  suffering,  gray  before  his  time,  there  was 
mere  madness  in  his  thought  of  her  buoyant 
strength.  "  You  may  take  ten  —  you  may  take 
twenty  years  to  rebuild  yourself,"  a  surgeon  had  said 
to  him  at  parting ;  and  he  asked  himself  bitterly,  by 
what  right  of  love  dared  he  make  her  strong  youth  a 
prop  for  his  feeble  life  ?  She  loved  him  he  knew  — 
in  his  blackest  hour  he  never  doubted  this  —  but  be- 
cause she  loved  him,  did  it  follow  that  she  must 
be  sacrificed? 

Then  gradually  the  dark  mood  passed,  and  with 
his  eyes  on  the  star,  his  mouth  settled  into  the 
lines  of  smiling  patience  which  suffering  brings  to 
the  brave.  He  had  never  been  a  coward  and  he 
was  not  one  now.  The  years  had  taught  him  noth- 
ing if  they  had  not  taught  him  the  wisdom  most 
needed  by  his  impulsive  youth  —  that  so  long  as 
there  comes  good  to  the  meanest  creature  from  fate's 
hardest  blow,  it  is  the  part  of  a  man  to  stand  up 


494  The  Battle- Ground 

and  take  it  between  the  eyes.  In  the  midst  of  his 
own  despair,  of  the  haunting  memories  of  that 
bland  period  which  was  over  for  his  race,  there 
arose  suddenly  the  figure  of  the  slave  the  Major 
had  rescued,  in  Dan's  boyhood,  from  the  power  of 
old  Rainy-day  Jones.  He  saw  again  the  poor  black 
wretch  shivering  in  the  warmth,  with  the  dirty  rag 
about  his  jaw,  and  with  the  sight  he  drew  a  breath 
that  was  almost  of  relief.  That  one  memory  had 
troubled  his  own  jovial  ease;  now  in  his  approach- 
ing poverty  he  might  put  it  away  from  him  for- 
ever. 

In  the  first  light  of  a  misty  April  sunrise  they 
went  out  on  the  road  again,  and  when  they  had 
walked  a  mile  or  so,  Big  Abel  found  some  young 
pokeberry  shoots,  which  he  boiled  in  his  old  quart 
cup  with  a  slice  of  bacon  he  had  saved  from  supper. 
At  noon  they  came  upon  a  little  farm  and  ploughed 
a  strip  of  land  in  payment  for  a  dinner  that  was 
lavishly  pressed  upon  them.  The  people  were  plain, 
poor,  and  kindly,  and  the  farmer  followed  Dan  into 
the  field  with  entreaties  that  he  should  leave  the 
furrows  and  come  in.  to  meet  his  family.  "  Let  yo' 
darky  do  a  bit  of  work  if  he  wants  to,"  he  urged, 
"  but  it  makes  me  downright  sick  to  see  one  of  Gen- 
eral Lee's  soldiers  driving  my  plough.  The  gals 
are  afraid  it'll  bring  bad  luck." 

With  a  laugh,  Dan  tossed  the  ropes  to  Big  Abel, 
who  had  been  breaking  clods  of  earth,  and  re- 
turned to  the  house,  where  he  was  placed  in  the  seat 
of  honour  and  waited  on  by  a  troop  of  enthusiastic 
red-cheeked  maidens,  each  of  whom  cut  one  of  the 
remaining  buttons   from   his   coat.     Here  he  was 


On  the  March  Again  495 

asked  to  stay  the  night,  but  with  the  memory  of  the 
blue  valley  before  his  eyes,  he  shook  his  head  and 
pushed  on  again  in  the  early  afternoon.  The  vision 
of  Chericoke  hung  like  a  star  above  his  road,  and 
he  struggled  a  little  nearer  day  by  day. 

Sometimes  ploughing,  sometimes  chopping  a  pile 
of  logs,  and  again  lying  for  hours  in  the  warm  grass 
by  the  way,  they  travelled  slowly  toward  the  valley 
that  held  Dan's  desire.  The  chill  April  dawns 
broke  over  them,  and  the  genial  April  sunshine 
warmed  them  through  after  a  drenching  in  a  pearly 
shower.  They  watched  the  buds  swell  and  the 
leaves  open  in  the  wood,  the  wild  violets  bloom  in 
sheltered  places,  and  the  dandelions  troop  in  ranks 
among  the  grasses  by  the  road.  Dan,  halting  to 
rest  in  the  mild  weather,  would  fall  often  into  a 
revery  long  and  patient,  like  those  of  extreme  old 
age.  With  the  sun  shining  upon  his  relaxed  body 
and  his  eyes  on  the  bright  dust  that  floated  in  the 
slanting  beams,  he  would  lie  for  hours  speechless, 
absorbed,  filled  with  visions.  One  day  he  found 
a  mountain  laurel  flowering  in  the  woods,  and  gath- 
ering a  spray  he  sat  with  it  in  his  hands  and 
dreamed  of  Betty.  When  Big  Abel  touched  him 
on  the  arm  he  turned  with  a  laugh  and  struggled  to 
his  feet.  "  I  was  resting,"  he  explained,  as  they 
walked  on.  "  It  is  good  to  rest  like  that  in  mind 
and  body ;  to  keep  out  thoughts  and  let  the  dreams 
come  as  they  will." 

"  De  bes'  place  ter  res'  is  on  yo'  own  do'  step," 
Big  Abel  responded,  and  quickening  their  pace,  they 
went  more  rapidly  over  the  rough  clay  roads. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  this  day  that  they  came,  in 


496  The  Battle-Ground 

the  purple  twilight,  to  a  big  brick  house  and  found 
there  a  woman  who  lived  alone  with  the  memories 
of  a  son  she  had  lost  at  Gettysburg.  At  their 
knock  she  came  herself,  with  a  few  old  servants, 
prompt,  tearful,  and  very  sad ;  and  when  she  saw 
Dan's  coat  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  behind  her,  she 
put  out  her  hands  with  a  cry  of  welcome  and  drew 
him  in,  weeping  softly  as  her  white  head  touched 
his  sleeve. 

"  My  mother  is  dead,  thank  God,"  he  murmured, 
and  at  his  words  she  looked  up  at  him  a  little 
startled. 

"  Others  have  come,"  she  said,  "  but  they  were 
not  like  you;  they  did  not  have  your  voice.  Have 
you  been  always  poor  like  this  ?  " 

He  met  her  eyes  smiling. 

"  I  have  not  always  been  a  soldier,"  was  his 
answer. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  as  if  bewil- 
dered ;  then  taking  a  lamp  from  an  old  servant,  she 
led  the  way  upstairs  to  her  son's  room,  and  laid 
out  the  dead  man's  clothes  upon  his  bed. 

"  We  keep  house  for  the  soldiers  now,"  she  said, 
and  went  out  to  make  things   ready. 

As  he  plunged  into  the  warm  water  and  dried 
himself  upon  the  fresh  linen  she  had  left,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  passing  feet  in  the  broad  hall,  and 
from  the  outside  kitchen  there  floated  a  savoury 
smell  that  reminded  him  of  Chericoke  at  the  sup- 
per hour.  With  the  bath  and  the  clean  clothes  his 
old  instincts  revived  within  him,  and  as  he  looked 
into  the  glass  he  caught  something  of  the  likeness  of 
his  college  days.    Beau  Montjoy  was  not  starved  out 


On  the  March  Again  497 

after  all,  he  thought  with  a  laugh,  he  was  only  plas- 
tered over  with  malaria  and  dirt. 

For  three  days  he  remained  in  the  big  brick  house 
lying  at  ease  upon  a  sofa  in  the  library,  or  listening 
to  the  tragic  voice  of  the  mother  who  talked  of 
her  only  son.  When  she  questioned  him  about 
Pickett's  charge,  he  raised  himself  on  his  pillows 
and  talked  excitedly,  his  face  flushing  as  if  from 
fever. 

"  Your  son  was  with  Armistead,"  he  said,  "  and 
they  all  went  down  like  heroes.  I  can  see  old 
Armistead  now  with  his  hat  on  his  sword's  point 
as  he  waved  to  us  through  the  smoke.  '  Who  will 
follow  me,  boys  ? '  he  cried,  and  the  next  instant 
dashed  straight  on  the  defences.  When  he  got  to 
the  second  line  there  were  only  six  men  with  him, 
beside  Colonel  Martin,  and  your  son  was  one  of 
them.  My  God!  it  was  worth  living  to  die  like 
that." 

"  And  it  is  worth  living  to  have  a  son  die  like 
that,"  she  added,  and  wept  softly  in  the  stillness. 

The  next  morning  he  went  on  again  despite  her 
prayers.  The  rest  was  all  too  pleasant,  but  the 
memory  of  his  valley  was  before  him,  and  he 
thirsted  for  the  pure  winds  that  blew  down  the  long 
white  turnpike. 

"  There  is  no  peace  for  me  until  I  see  it  again," 
he  said  at  parting,  and  with  a  lighter  step  went 
out  upon  the  April  roads  once  more. 

The  way  was  easier  now  for  his  limbs  were 
stronger,  and  he  wore  the  dead  man's  shoes  upon 
his  feet.  For  a  time  it  almost  seemed  that  the 
strength  of  that  other  soldier,  who  lay  in  a  strange 


49 8  The  Battle-Ground 

soil,  had  entered  into  his  veins  and  made  him 
hardier  to  endure.  And  so  through  the  clear  days 
they  travelled  with  few  pauses,  munching  as  they 
walked  from  the  food  Big  Abel  carried  in  a  basket 
on  his  arm. 

"  We've  been  coming  for  three  weeks,  and  we  are 
getting  nearer,"  said  Dan  one  evening,  as  he  climbed 
the  spur  of  a  mountain  range  at  the  hour  of  sunset. 
Then  his  glance  swept  the  wide  horizon,  and  the  stick 
in  his  hand  fell  suddenly  to  the  ground ;  for  faint  and 
blue  and  bathed  in  the  sunset  light  he  saw  his  own 
hills  crowding  against  the  sky.  As  he  looked  his 
heart  swelled  with  tears,  and  turning  away  he 
covered  his  quivering  face. 


XI 


THE    RETURN 


As  they  passed  from  the  shadow  of  the  tavern 
road,  the  afternoon  sunlight  was  slanting  across  the 
turnpike  from  the  friendly  hills,  which  alone  of  all 
the  landscape  remained  unchanged.  Loyal,  smiling, 
guarding  the  ruined  valley  like  peaceful  sentinels, 
they  had  suffered  not  so  much  as  an  added  wrinkle 
upon  their  brows.  As  Dan  had  left  them  five  long 
years  ago,  so  he  found  them  now,  and  his  heart 
leaped  as  he  stood  at  last  face  to  face.  He  was  like 
a  man  who,  having  hungered  for  many  days,  finds 
himself  suddenly  satisfied  again. 

Amid  a  blur  of  young  foliage  they  saw  first  the 
smoking  chimneys  of  Uplands,  and  then  the  Doric 
columns  beyond  a  lane  of  flowering  lilacs.  The 
stone  wall  had  crumbled  in  places,  and  strange 
weeds  were  springing  up  among  the  high  blue-grass ; 
but  here  and  there  beneath  the  maples  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  small  darkies  uprooting  the  intruders, 
and  beyond  the  garden,  in  the  distant  meadows, 
ploughmen  were  plodding  back  and  forth  in  the 
purple  furrows.  Peace  had  descended  here  at  least, 
and,  with  a  smile,  he  detected  Betty's  abounding 
energy  in  the  moving  spirit  of  the  place.  He  saw 
her  in  the  freshly  swept  walks,  in  the  small  negroes 
weeding  tb~.  blue-grass  lawn,  in  the  distant  ploughs 
499 


500  The  Battle-Ground 

that  made  blots  upon  the  meadows.  For  a  moment 
he  hesitated,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  iron  gate; 
then,  stifling  the  temptation,  he  turned  back  into  the 
white  sand  of  the  road.  Before  he  met  Betty's  eyes, 
he  meant  that  his  peace  should  be  made  with  the  old 
man  at  Chericoke. 

Big  Abel,  tramping  at  his  side,  opened  his  mouth 
from  time  to  time  to  let  out  a  rapturous  exclama- 
tion. 

"  Dar  'tis !  des  look  at  it ! "  he  chuckled,  when 
Uplands  had  been  left  far  behind  them.  "  Dat's  de 
ve'y  same  clump  er  cedars,  en  dat's  de  wiP  cher'y 
lyin'  right  flat  on  hit's  back  —  dey's  done  cut  it  down 
ter  git  de  cher'ies." 

"  And  the  locust !  Look,  the  big  locust  tree  is 
still  there,  and  in  full  bloom !  " 

"  Lawd,  de  'simmons !  Dar's  de  'simmon  tree 
way  down  yonder  in  the  meadow,  whar  we  all  use 
ter  set  ouah  ole  hyar  traps.  You  ain'  furgot  dose  ole 
hyar  traps,  Marse  Dan  ?  " 

"  Forgotten  them !  good  Lord !  "  said  Dan ;  "  why 
I  remember  we  caught  five  one  Christmas  morning, 
and  Betty  fed  them  and  set  them  free  again." 

"  Dat  she  did,  suh,  dat  she  did !  Hit's  de  gospel 
trufe !  " 

"  We  never  could  hide  our  traps  from  Betty," 
pursued  Dan,  in  delight.  "  She  was  a  regular  fox 
for  scenting  them  out  —  I  never  saw  such  a  nose 
for  traps  as  hers,  and  she  always  set  the  things  loose 
and  smashed  the  doors." 

"  We  hid  'em  one  time  way  way  in  de  thicket  by 
de  ice  pond,"  returned  Big  Abel,  "  but  she  spied  'em 
out.  Yes,  Lawd,  she  spied  'em  out  fo'  ouah  backs 
wuz  turnt." 


The  Return  501 

He  talked  on  rapidly  while  Dan  listened  with  a 
faint  smile  about  his  mouth.  Since  they  had  left  the 
tavern  road,  Big  Abel's  onward  march  had  been  ac- 
companied by  ceaseless  ejaculations.  His  joy  was 
childlike,  unrestrained,  full  of  whimsical  surprises 
—  the  flight  of  a  bluebird  or  the  recognition  of  a 
shrub  beside  the  way  sent  him  with  shining  eyes 
and  quickened  steps  along  the  turnpike. 

From  free  Levi's  cabin,  which  was  still  standing, 
though  a  battle  had  raged  in  the  fallen  woods  be- 
yond it,  and  men  had  fought  and  been  buried  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  the  doorstep,  they  heard  the 
steady  falling  of  a  hammer  and  caught  the  red  glow 
from  the  rude  forge  at  which  the  old  negro  worked. 
With  the  half-forgotten  sound,  Dan  returned  as  if 
in  a  vision  to  his  last  night  at  Chericoke,  when  he 
had  run  off  in  his  boyish  folly,  with  free  Levi's  ham- 
mer beating  in  his  ears.  Then  he  had  dreamed  of 
coming  back  again,  but  not  like  this.  He  had  meant 
to  ride  proudly  up  the  turnpike,  with  his  easily  won 
honours  on  his  head,  and  in  his  hands  his  magnani- 
mous forgiveness  for  all  who  had  done  him  wrong. 
On  that  day  he  had  pictured  the  Governor  hurrying 
to  the  turnpike  as  he  passed,  and  he  had  seen 
his  grandfather,  shy  of  apologies,  eager  to  make 
amends. 

That  was  his  dream,  and  to-day  he  came  back 
footsore,  penniless,  and  in  a  dead  man's  clothes  —  a 
beggar  as  he  had  been  at  his  first  home-coming,  when 
he  had  stood  panting  on  the  threshold  and  clutched 
his  little  bundle  in  his  arms. 

Yet  his  pulses  stirred,  and  he  turned  cheerfully  to 
the  negro  at  his  side. 

Fiction,  Vol.  15 — 22 


502  The  Battle- Ground 

"  Do  you  see  it,  Big  Abel  ?  Tell  me  when  you 
see  it." 

"  Dar's  de  cattle  pastur1,"  cried  Big  Abel,  "  en 
dey's  been  a-fittin'  dar  —  des  look." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  skirmish,"  replied  Dan, 
glancing  down  the  slope.  "  The  wall  is  all  down, 
and  see  here,"  his  foot  struck  on  something  hard 
and  he  stooped  and  picked  up  a  horse's  skull.  "  I 
dare  say  a  squad  of  cavalry  met  Mosby's  rangers," 
he  added.  "  It  looks  as  if  they'd  had  a  little 
frolic." 

He  threw  the  skull  into  the  pasture,  and  followed 
Big  Abel,  who  was  hurrying  along  the  road. 

"  We're  moughty  near  dar,"  cried  the  negro, 
breaking  into  a  run.  "  Des  wait  twel  we  pass  de 
aspens,  Marse  Dan,  des  wait  twel  we  pass  de  aspens, 
den  we'll  be  right  dar,  suh." 

Then,  as  Dan  reached  him,  the  aspens  were 
passed,  and  where  Chericoke  had  stood  they  found  a 
heap  of  ashes. 

At  their  feet  lay  the  relics  of  a  hot  skirmish,  and 
the  old  elms  were  perforated  with  rifle  balls,  but  for 
these  things  Dan  had  neither  eyes  nor  thoughts.  He 
was  standing  before  the  place  that  he  called  home, 
and  where  the  hospitable  doors  had  opened  he 
found  only  a  cold  mound  of  charred  and  crumbled 
bricks. 

For  an  instant  the  scene  went  black  before  his 
eyes,  and  as  he  staggered  forward,  Big  Abel  caught 
his  arm. 

"  I'se  hyer,  Marse  Dan,  I'se  hyer,"  groaned  the 
negro  in  his  ear. 

"  But  the  others  ?    Where  are  the  others  ?  "  asked 


The  Return  503 

Dan,  coming  to  himself.  "  Hold  me,  Big  Abel,  I'm 
an  utter  fool.    O  Congo !    Is  that  Congo  ?  " 

A  negro,  coming  with  his  hoe  from  the  corn  field, 
ran  over  the  desolated  lawn,  and  began  shouting 
hoarsely  to  the  hands  behind  him :  — 

"  Hi !  Hit's  Marse  Dan,  hit's  Marse  Dan  come 
back  agin !  "  he  yelled,  and  at  the  cry  there  flocked 
round  him  a  little  troop  of  faithful  servants,  weep- 
ing, shouting,  holding  out  eager  arms. 

"  Hi !  hit's  Marse  Dan !  "  they  shrieked  in  chorus. 
"Hit's  Marse  Dan  en  Brer  Abel!  Brer  Abel  en 
Marse  Dan  is  done  come  agin !  " 

Dan  wept  with  them  —  tears  of  weakness,  of  an- 
guish, of  faint  hope  amid  the  dark.  As  their  hands 
closed  over  his,  he  grasped  them  as  if  his  eyes  had 
gone  suddenly  blind. 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  Congo,  for  God's  sake, 
tell  me  where  are  the  others  ?  " 

"We  all's  hyer,  Marse  Dan.  We  all's  hyer," 
they  protested,  sobbing.  "  En  Ole  Marster  en  Ole 
Miss  dey's  in  de  house  er  de  overseer  —  dey's  right 
over  dar  behine  de  orchard  whar  you  use  ter  projick 
wid  de  ploughs,  en  Brer  Cupid  and  Sis  Rhody  dey's 
a-gittin'  dem  dey  supper." 

"  Then  let  me  go,"  cried  Dan.  "  Let  me  go ! " 
and  he  started  at  a  run  past  the  gray  ruins  and  the 
standing  kitchen,  past  the  flower  garden  and  the  big 
woodpile,  to  the  orchard  and  the  small  frame  house 
of  Harris  the  overseer. 

Big  Abel  kept  at  his  heels,  panting,  grunting,  call- 
ing upon  his  master  to  halt  and  upon  Congo  to 
hurry  after. 

"  You'll  skeer  dem  ter  deaf  —  you'll  skeer  Ole 


504  The  Battle-Ground 

Miss  ter  deaf,"  cried  Congo  from  the  rear,  and 
drawing  a  trembling  breath,  Dan  slackened  his  pace 
and  went  on  at  a  walk.  At  last,  when  he  reached 
the  small  frame  house  and  put  his  foot  upon  the 
step,  he  hesitated  so  long  that  Congo  slipped  ahead 
of  him  and  softly  opened  the  door.  Then  his  young 
master  followed  and  stood  looking  with  blurred 
eyes  into  the  room. 

Before  a  light  blaze  which  burned  on  the  hearth, 
the  Major  was  sitting  in  an  arm  chair  of  oak  splits, 
his  eyes  on  the  blossoming  apple  trees  outside,  and 
above  his  head,  the  radiant  image  of  Aunt  Emme- 
line,  painted  as  Venus  in  a  gown  of  amber  brocade. 
All  else  was  plain  and  clean  —  the  well-swept  floor, 
the  burnished  andirons,  the  cupboard  filled  with 
rows  of  blue  and  white  china  —  but  that  one  glow- 
ing figure  lent  a  festive  air  to  the  poorly  furnished 
room,  and  enriched  with  a  certain  pomp  the  tired 
old  man,  dozing,  with  bowed  white  head,  in  the  rude 
arm  chair.  It  was  the  one  thing  saved  from  the 
ashes  —  the  one  vestige  of  a  former  greatness  that 
still  remained. 

As  Dan  stood  there,  a  clock  on  the  mantel  struck 
the  hour,  and  the  Major  turned  slowly  toward 
him. 

"  Bring  the  lamps,  Cupid,"  he  said,  though  the 
daylight  was  still  shining.  "  I  don't  like  the  long 
shadows  —  bring  the  lamps." 

Choking  back  a  sob,  Dan  crossed  the  floor  and 
knelt  down  by  the  chair. 

"  We  have  come  back,  grandpa,"  he  said.  "  We 
beg  your  pardon,  and  we  have  come  back  —  Big 
Abel  and  I." 


The  Return  505 

For  a  moment  the  Major  stared  at  him  in  silence; 
then  he  reached  out  and  felt  him  with  shaking  hands 
as  if  he  mistrusted  the  vision  of  his  eyes. 

"  So  you're  back,  Champe,  my  boy,"  he  mut- 
tered. "  My  eyes  are  bad  —  I  thought  at  first  that  it 
was  Dan  —  that  it  was  Dan." 

"  It  is  I,  grandpa,"  said  Dan,  slowly.  "  It  is  I  — 
and  Big  Abel,  too.  We  are  sorry  for  it  all  —  for 
everything,  and  we  have  come  back  poorer  than  we 
went  away." 

A  light  broke  over  the  old  man's  face,  and  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  great  cry  that  filled 
the  room  as  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  grandson's 
breast.  Then,  when  Mrs.  Lightfoot  appeared  in 
the  doorway,  he  controlled  himself  with  a  gasp  and 
struggled  to  his  feet. 

"  Welcome  home,  my  son,"  he  said  ceremoniously, 
as  he  put  out  his  quivering  hands,  "  and  welcome 
home,  Big  Abel." 

The  old  lady  went  into  Dan's  arms  as  he  turned, 
and  looking  over  her  head,  he  saw  Betty  coming 
toward  him  with  a  lamp  shining  in  her  hand. 

"  My  child,  here  is  one  of  our  soldiers,"  cried  the 
Major,  in  joyful  tones,  and  as  the  girl  placed  the 
lamp  upon  the  table,  she  turned  and  met  Dan's 
eyes. 

"  It  is  the  second  time  I've  come  home  like  this, 
Betty,"  he  said,  "  only  I'm  a  worse  beggar  now  than 
I  was  at  first." 

Betty  shook  his  hand  warmly  and  smiled  into  his 
serious  face. 

"  I  dare  say  you're  hungrier,"  she  responded 
cheerfully,  "  but  we'll  soon  mend  that,  Mrs.  Light- 


506  The  Battle-Ground 

foot  and  I.  We  are  of  one  mind  with  Uncle  Bill, 
who,  when  Mr.  Blake  asked  him  the  other  day  what 
we  ought  to  do  for  our  returned  soldiers,  replied  as 
quick  as  that,  '  Feed  'em,  sir.'  " 

The  Major  laughed  with  misty  eyes. 

"  You  can't  get  Betty  to  look  on  the  dark  side, 
my  boy,"  he  declared,  though  Dan,  watching  the 
girl,  saw  that  her  face  in  repose  had  grown  very  sad. 
Only  the  old  beaming  smile  brought  the  brightness 
now. 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  will  turn  up  the  cheerful  part 
of  this  outlook,"  he  said,  surrendering  himself  to 
the  noisy  welcome  of  Cupid  and  Aunt  Rhody. 

"  We  may  trust  her  —  we  may  trust  her,"  replied 
the  old  man  as  he  settled  himself  back  into  his  chair. 
"  If  there  isn't  any  sunshine,  Betty  will  make  it  for 
us  herself." 

Dan  met  the  girl's  glance  for  an  instant,  and  then 
looked  at  the  old  negroes  hanging  upon  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  the  prodigal  is  back,"  he  admitted,  laugh- 
ing, "  and  I  hope  the  fatted  calf  is  on  the  crane." 

"  Dar's  a  roas'  pig  fur  ter-morrow,sho's  you  bo'n," 
returned  Aunt  Rhody.  "  En  I'se  gwine  to  stuff  'im 
full."  Then  she  hurried  away  to  her  fire,  and  Dan 
threw  himself  down  upon  the  rug  at  the  Major's 
feet. 

"  Yes,  we  may  trust  Betty  for  the  sunshine,"  re- 
peated the  Major,  as  if  striving  to  recall  his  wander- 
ing thoughts.  "  She's  my  overseer  now,  you  know, 
and  she  actually  looks  after  both  places  in  less  time 
than  poor  Harris  took  to  worry  along  with  one, 
Why,  there's  not  a  better  farmer  in  the  county." 

"Oh,  Major,  don't,"  begged  the  girl,  laughing 


The  Return  507 

and  blushing  beneath  Dan's  eyes.  "  You  mustn't 
believe  him,  Dan,  he  wears  rose-coloured  glasses 
when  he  looks  at  me." 

"  Well,  my  sight  is  dim  enough  for  everything 
else,  my  dear,"  confessed  the  old  man  sadly. 
"  That's  why  I  have  the  lamps  lighted  before  the  sun 
goes  down  —  eh,  Molly  ?  " 

Mrs.  Lightfoot  unwrapped  her  knitting  and  the 
ivory  kneedles  clicked  in  the  firelight. 

"  I  like  to  keep  the  shadows  away  myself,"  she 
responded.  "  The  twilight  used  to  be  my  favourite 
hour,  but  I  dread  it  now,  and  so  does  Mr.  Light- 
foot." 

"  Well,  the  war's  given  us  that  in  common," 
chuckled  the  Major,  stretching  out  his  feet.  "  If  I 
remember  rightly  you  once  complained  that  our 
tastes  were  never  alike,  Molly."  Then  he  glanced 
round  with  hospitable  eyes.  "  Draw  up,  my  boy, 
draw  up  to  the  fire  and  tell  your  story,"  he  added 
invitingly.  "  By  the  time  Champe  comes  home  we'll 
have  rich  treats  in  store  for  the  summer  evenings." 

Betty  was  looking  at  him  as  he  bent  over  the  thin 
flames,  and  Dan  saw  her  warm  gaze  cloud  suddenly 
with  tears.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  hers 
as  it  lay  on  the  Major's  chair,  and  when  she  turned 
to  him  she  was  smiling  brightly. 

"  Here's  Cupid  with  our  supper,"  she  said,  going 
to  the  table,  "  and  dear  Aunt  Rhody  has  actually 
gotten  out  her  brandied  peaches  that  she  kept  be- 
hind her  '  jists.'  If  you  ever  doubted  your  welcome, 
Dan,  this  must  banish  it  forever."  Then  as  they 
gathered  about  the  fruits  of  Aunt  Rhody's  labours, 
she  talked  on  rapidly  in  her  cheerful  voice.    "  The 


508  The  Battle-Ground 

silver  has  just  been  drawn  up  from  the  bottom  of 
the  well,"  she  laughed,  "  so  you  mustn't  wonder  if 
it  looks  a  little  tarnished.  There  wasn't  a  piece 
missing,  which  is  something  to  be  thankful  for  al- 
ready, and  the  port  —  how  many  bottles  of  port  did 
you  dig  up  from  the  asparagus  bed,  Uncle  Cupid  ?  " 

"  I'se  done  hoed  up  'mos'  a  dozen,"  answered 
Cupid,  as  he  plied  Dan  with  waffles,  "en  dey  ain'  all 
un  um  up  yit." 

"  Well,  well,  we'll  have  a  bottle  after  supper,"  re- 
marked the  Major,  heartily. 

"  If  there's  anything  that's  been  improved  by  this 
war  it  should  be  that  port,  I  reckon,"  said  Mrs. 
Lightfoot,  her  muslin  cap  nodding  over  the  high  old 
urns. 

"  And  Dan's  appetite,"  finished  Betty,  merrily. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table,  the  girl  tied  on 
her  bonnet  of  plaited  straw  and  kissed  Mrs.  Light- 
foot  and  the  Major. 

"  It  is  almost  mamma's  supper  time,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  must  hurry  back.  Why,  I've  been  away 
from  her  at  least  two  hours."  Then  she  looked  at 
Dan  and  shook  her  head.  "  Don't  come,"  she  added, 
"  it  is  too  far  for  you,  and  Congo  will  see  me  safely 
home." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  Congo,  but  his  day  is  over," 
Dan  returned,  as  he  took  up  his  hat  and  followed 
her  out  into  the  orchard.  With  a  last  wave  to  the 
Major,  who  watched  them  from  the  window,  they 
passed  under  the  blossoming  fruit  trees  and  went 
slowly  down  the  little  path,  while  Betty  talked 
pleasantly  of  trivial  things,  cheerful,  friendly,  and 
composed.     When  she  had  exhausted  the  spring 


The  Return  509 

ploughing,  the  crops  still  to  be  planted  and  the 
bright  May  weather,  Dan  stopped  beside  the  ashes 
of  Chericoke,  and  looked  at  her  with  sombre  eyes. 

"  Betty,  we  must  have  it  out,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"  I  have  thought  over  it  until  I'm  almost  mad,  and 
I  see  but  one  sensible  thing  for  you  to  do  —  you 
must  give  me  up  —  my  dearest." 

A  smile  flickered  about  Betty's  mouth.  "  It  has 
taken  you  a  long  time  to  come  to  that  conclusion," 
she  responded. 

"  I  hoped  until  the  end  —  even  after  I  knew  that 
hope  was  folly  and  that  I  was  a  fool  to  cling  to  it. 
I  always  meant  to  come  back  to  you  when  I  got  the 
chance,  but  not  like  this  —  not  like  this." 

At  the  pain  in  his  eyes  the  girl  caught  her  breath 
with  a  sob  that  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  Pity 
moved  her  with  a  passion  stronger  than  mere  love, 
and  she  put  out  her  protecting  arms  with  a  gesture 
that  would  have  saved  him  from  the  world  —  or 
from  himself. 

"  No,  like  this,  Dan,"  she  answered,  with  her  lips 
upon  his  coat. 

He  kissed  her  once  and  drew  back. 

"  I  never  meant  to  come  home  this  way,  Betty," 
he  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  from  its  new  hu- 
mility. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  I  have  grown  to  think  that 
any  way  is  a  good  way,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes 
on  the  blackened  pile  that  had  once  been  Cheri- 
coke. 

"  It  is  not  right,"  he  went  on ;  "  it  is  not  fair. 
You  cannot  marry  me  —  you  must  not." 

Again  the  humour  quivered  on  the  girl's  lips. 


510  The  Battle-Ground 

"  I  don't  like  to  seem  too  urgent,"  she  returned, 
J*  but  will  you  tell  me  why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated  bitterly.  "  There  are  a 
hundred  why's  if  you  want  them,  and  each  one  suf- 
ficient in  itself.  I  am  a  beggar,  a  failure,  a  wreck, 
a  broken-down  soldier  from  the  ranks.  Do  you 
think  if  it  were  anything  less  than  pure  madness  on 
your  part  that  I  should  stand  here  a  moment  and 
talk  like  this  ?  —  but  because  I  am  in  love  with  you, 
Betty,  it  doesn't  follow  that  I'm  an  utter  ass." 

"That's  flattering,"  responded  Betty,  "but  it 
doesn't  explain  just  what  I  want  to  know.  Look 
me  straight  in  the  eyes  —  no  evading  now  —  and 
answer  what  I  ask.  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  to  be 
neighbours  and  nothing  more?  Do  you  mean  that 
we  are  to  shake  hands  when  we  meet  and  drop  them 
afterward  ?  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  to  stand  alone 
together  as  we  are  standing  now  —  that  you  are 
never  to  take  me  in  your  arms  again  ?  Do  you  mean 
this,  my  dear  ?  " 

"I  mean  —  just  that,"  he  answered  between  his 
teeth. 

For  a  moment  Betty  looked  at  him  with  a  laugh 
of  disbelief.  Then,  biting  the  smile  upon  her  lips, 
she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  friendly  gesture. 

"  I  am  quite  content  that  it  should  be  so,"  she 
said  in  a  cordial  voice.  "  We  shall  be  very  good 
neighbours,  I  fancy,  and  if  you  have  any  trouble 
with  your  crops,  don't  hesitate  to  ask  for  my  ad- 
vice. I've  become  an  excellent  farmer,  the  Major 
says,  you  know."  She  caught  up  her  long  black 
skirt  and  walked  on,  but  when  he  would  have  fol- 
lowed, she  motioned  him  back  with  a  decisive  little 


The  Return  51 1 

wave.  "  You  really  mustn't  —  I  can't  think  of  al- 
lowing it,"  she  insisted.  "  It  is  putting  my  neigh- 
bours to  unheard-of  trouble  to  make  them  see  me 
home.  Why,  if  I  once  begin  the  custom,  I  shall  soon 
have  old  Rainy-day  Jones  walking  back  with  me 
when  I  go  to  buy  his  cows."  Still  smiling  she 
passed  under  the  battle-scarred  elms  and  stepped 
over  the  ruined  gate  into  the  road. 

Leaning  against  a  twisted  tree  in  the  old  drive, 
Dan  watched  her  until  her  black  dress  fluttered  be- 
yond the  crumbled  wall.  Then  he  gave  a  cry  that 
checked  her  hastening  feet. 

"  Betty !  "  he  called,  and  at  his  voice  she  turned. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  friend  ?  "  she  asked,  and,  stand- 
ing amid  the  scattered  stones,  looked  back  at  him 
with  pleading  eyes. 

"  Betty !  "  he  cried  again,  stretching  out  his  arms ; 
and  as  she  ran  toward  him,  he  went  down  beside  the 
ashes  of  Chericoke,  and  lay  with  his  face  half  hidden 
against  a  broken  urn. 

"  I  am  coming,"  called  Betty,  softly,  running 
over  the  fallen  gate  and  along  the  drive.  Then,  as 
she  reached  him,  she  knelt  down  and  drew  him  to 
her  bosom,  soothing  him  as  a  mother  soothes  a  tired 
child. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish  —  I  shall  be  as  you 
wish,"  she  promised  as  she  held  him  close. 

But  his  strength  had  come  back  to  him  at  her 
touch,  and  springing  to  his  feet,  he  caught  her  from 
the  ground  as  he  had  done  that  day  beside  the  cabin 
in  the  woods,  kissing  her  eyelids  and  her  faithful 
hands. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Betty,  it's  no  use,    There's  still 


512  The  Battle-Ground 

some  fight  left  in  me  —  I  am  not  utterly  beaten  so 
long  as  I  have  you  on  my  side." 

With  a  smile  she  lifted  her  face  and  he  caught 
the  strong  courage  of  her  look. 

"  We  will  begin  again,"  she  said,  "  and  this  time, 
my  dear,  we  will  begin  together." 


